


How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

by iscatterthemintimeandspace



Series: Sweet  Sabriel Serial Killer Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Blood Drinking, Corpses, Dark! Gabriel, Dark! Sam, FBI Agent! Castiel, FBI Agent! Dean, FBI Agent! Sam, Forensic Anthropologist! Gabriel, Gore, Gun Violence, M/M, Mentions of Pedophilia, Minor Character Death, Murder, Poison, Schizophrenia, Serial Killer! Gabriel, Serial Killer! Sam, Violence, but really minor, dead bodies, it's gunna be bloody guys, mentions of animal abuse, mentions of child abuse, serial killer au, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iscatterthemintimeandspace/pseuds/iscatterthemintimeandspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is an FBI profile  with a knack for catching killers, because he can think like one. Along with his brother, Dean, he and a team travel around catching serial killers, all while failing to find the one Sam is most interested in, the Candy Man Killer, a playful monster with flair for dramatic irony. </p><p>In the meantime, Sam is falling in love with forensic anthropologist, Gabriel Novak, unaware that Gabriel has a dark secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lemon Drop

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

“Ah yea, Sam,” Section Chief Bobby Singer was behind his battered wooden desk, looking distinctly ruffled despite his good suit and professional haircut. Sam was reminded strongly of a dog standing on its hind legs. “I was wondering if you would come back into the field, we got a doozy on our hands…”

“The Vampire of the Bayou?” Sam asked bluntly. He was never one to mince words.

“Yeah,” Chief Singer replied. “Look, I wouldn't ask if we didn’t need ya. Not after what happened.”

Sam blinked at him. What had happened, as he put it, was one of the killers they were hunting making Sam’s fiancée his final victim. Sam had only waited until they caught the bastard to retire from the field and bury himself in teaching at the academy in Quantico. 

He was surprised that Singer had waited three years to pull him back in. This one must be bad.

Sam had heard bits and pieces about the serial killer the news was calling “The Vampire of the Bayou” a madman who was hunting young men in Louisiana, draining them of blood and dumping them with crude wooden stakes shoved through their hearts.

Even though bloodshed was part of his profession, he tended to shy away from it in his personal life, especially after Jess.

“We really need you, kid,” the Chief’s voice softened. “Need you and that gift of yours.”

Sam sighed.

That was ultimately it, what everyone was after, his “gift.”

When he started at the Academy, a couple years after his brother Dean, he had tried to keep his weird little quirk hidden. He had wanted to be a regular field agent, but Bobby Singer had picked Sam out of one of his classes, and he’d been on his radar ever since.

Robert Singer was the Section Chief of the Behavioral Sciences Unit, and he needed Sam to help him catch killers.

Because Sam thought like one. He only had to see a crime scene once to be able to recreate the crime in his head, and come up with a basic profile of who they were looking for. The forensics team and the other agents helped fill it in from there. His brother Dean and his partner, Castiel Collins, were the best agents in the BSU, possibly the FBI, but no one was as good at this as Sam. They must be really stumped if they were going to all the trouble to get him back.

“Dean didn’t want to ask you,” Chief Singer continued. “But we ain’t got another choice.”

Sam regarded him for a moment. Singer had been good to him, and to Dean, and always had the best intentions at heart. Sam owed him this, just one last time.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

He was on the next plane to Louisiana. 

~~~~  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Siralop/media/BB%201.jpg.html)

Sam barely had time to settle into his room before there was a knock on his door.

He opened it to find Dean and Cas standing in his doorway, looking rumpled.

“Hey bitch,” Dean grinned at him. “Let’s go.”

“Jerk,” Sam muttered after him, grabbing his coat.

“This one’s still fresh,” Dean said, as he started the car. “So to speak. You read the packet?”

“Yea,” Sam answered. He’d read the dossier Bobby had given him cover to cover on the plane.

”Four victims,” Dean continued. “All young men in their twenties, all drifters, all Caucasian. What does that tell us?”

“Victims that won’t be missed,” Sam answered, staring at the window into the passing thicket of trees. “Easy pickings.”

Cas glanced at him from the back seat of the rented SUV. “How are you, Sam?”

Sam shrugged and then gave Cas a sort of half-smile. “Some old, Cas,” he said lightly. “Teaching is-”.

Dean looked at them both in the rearview mirror. “Cut the small talk, Blanche and Sophia. We got a case to work.”

Cas sighed, ever the long-suffering partner. “All the victims were drained of blood and dumped with a stake through their hearts. Like a -”

“Vampire,” Sam finished. Cas nodded.

“There’s still a body at the latest scene,” Dean put in. “Medical examiner and forensic anthropologist are on their way.”

“Anthropologist?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

“According to the local cops,” Dean responded. “The vic is partially skeletonized, they called us and the chief called the doctor.

Sam huffed. He hated working with doctors of any sort, although he reserved special animosity for psychologists.

Dean pulled down a seemingly muddy dirt road, jouncing Sam into the low car ceiling. Finally three other cars came into view: a police car, the medical examiner’s white van and for some reason, a yellow VW bug.

Sam ducked out of the car, and walked towards the small gaggle of people.

The air was thick and soupy, saturated with the smells of the salt marshes, briny and fishy. There was no trace of decomp, nothing that he could detect anyway.

He held up his badge, as Dean and Cas came up behind him.

“Agents Winchester, Winchester and Collins. Bobby Singer sent us,”

The African American man standing over the body snorted. “Couldn’t be bothered to come down here himself.”

“I assure you, sir, Section Chief Singer sent-” Dean started, but the man cut him off.

“Section Chief, is it now?” the man laughed. “God, I’ve known Singer down for thirty years. It’s about time he got himself a promotion. Rufus Turner, medical examiner.”

Dean held out his hand, and the man shook it. “Nice to meet you sir. What can you tell us about the body?”

“Unfortunately, not a lot.” Rufus shrugged. “Body is mostly skeletonized. I can only make guesses at a cause and time of death. There’s a stake in his chest and holes in his neck, like the others. Dr. Novak’ll be able to tell you more.”

“Dr. Novak?” Sam asked.

At that moment, the other man hovering over the body stood up and pulled off his goggles. “That would be me, Agent.” he stepped over to them, his hazard plastic overalls making a squishing sound as he walked.

Sam gave him a blank look. He didn’t look like a doctor, not in the least. He was small for a man, maybe 5’7” or 5 ‘8” with dark blonde hair and what Sam could only describe as whiskey-brown eyes. “You can call me Sam.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “I hope I can call you often.”

It was so bad, Sam couldn’t help but grin. Behind him, Dean snorted, and Sam held out his hand for the doctor to shake.

Dr. Novak held up his gloved hands, covered in god-knows-what. “I’ll get a rain check on that, okay Sammy?”

“Point taken, Doc,” Sam slid his hands into his pockets. “And it’s Sam. What can you tell us about the vic?”

“Tsk, tsk, kiddo,” Dr. Novak wagged his finger at him. “No foreplay before the main event? I pity your girlfriends.”

Sam felt himself turning bright red, and heard Dean and Cas chuckling behind him. He whipped around and glared at them. “It’s Sam, Dr. Novak.”

“Gabriel, Sam,” he corrected with a smirk. “And the ken doll and captain side eye behind you are?”

It was Sam’s turn to laugh, as Dean sputtered. “My brother Dean and his partner, Castiel Collins.”

“Can we get to the vic now?” Dean cut in, a perturbed edge to his voice.

Gabriel winked at Sam, and turned towards the body. “No ID yet. Caucasian male, mid to late twenties. Missing a couple teeth, hadn’t seen a dentist in a while, could be a drifter,” he shrugged. “He’s been out here awhile, I can probably tell you almost how long once I check my weather charts.”

“Weather charts?” Cas asked, cocking his head.

“Different conditions affect how bodies decompose,” Gabriel explained. “They affect animal activity, insect life cycles, the creation of grave wax-”

Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Okay, we don’t need the visual, Doc. How quickly can you tell us how long he’s been out here?”

Gabriel sighed. “A couple days maybe. Provided, that is, Rufus lets me borrow his office.”

Rufus snorted. “As long as you promise not to leave it a mess like last time, whiskey bottles, condoms and bones all over.”

A warm blush crept over the doctor’s features, and Sam grinned at him. “You’re exaggerating, Rufus,” he admonished. “The bones were on the gurney.” He winked at Sam.

Dean made a noise in his throat, and turned to Sam, nodding towards the crime scene.

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He hated doing this when there were other people close by, people who didn't understand. They always looked at him like a freak afterwards.

The people that surrounded him melted away, as time rewound in his head. He was overcome with a sense of calm, cold and sharp against his mind, despite the heat around him. There was a gentle whisper, a soft laugh like the touch of butterfly wings, and he slipped into his killspace. 

Sam opened his eyes in a killer’s body. He saw the body of a young man, dirty and unkempt, homeless and alone, cradled in the killer’s arms.

The killer dropped to his knees, holding the body close, stroking his hair. He rocked back and forth, his lips moving with silent conversations.

This wasn’t the composure of the killer Sam had seen before, none of the steps that his other victims were subjected to. He frantically hid the body under the brush, shaky hands raking through sweaty, damp hair.

Panic. Trembling. Nausea.

Blood on his hands. Hot, ugly blood.

The killer ran from the scene, leaving the body to molder and decay.

Sam saw him coming back later, after the body was already rotted, shoving the stake through his heart, claiming it as his kill.

“I think,” Sam blinked, coming back to himself. “I think this was his first kill.”

Gabriel regarded him quizzically, his expressive eyebrow raised almost to his hairline. “How do you figure?”

“I can feel it,”

The anthropologist smiled at him. “I hate to tell you this, kiddo-”

“It’s Sam.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I hate you tell you this, Sam,” he repeated, with emphasis. “But in law enforcement, we need silly things like, ya know, evidence.”

Sam sighed. It wasn’t worth it to try and explain what he had seen to a stranger he most likely wouldn’t see again. “Forget it.”

“Well, let me get this guy back to the office and see what I can figure out,” Gabriel nodded at him, but it wasn’t the judgmental look he normally got, only curiosity.

“Call us when you find out. Let’s go Sam.” He turned to leave and Cas followed behind him.

Sam rummaged in his pocket and handed Gabriel his card. “My cell is on the back. Call me any time.”

Gabriel looked up at him and for the first time, Sam saw his eyes were actually more golden than brown. “I’ll do that, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t bother to correct him.

~~~~  
It was two am when his phone rang, and Sam fumbled for it in his dark, uncomfortable hotel room.

“Winchester,” he said into the phone, his voice rough with sleep. Late phone calls weren’t out of the norm for agents, but Sam wasn’t an agent anymore, he was a teacher with a predictable sleep schedule and a ten p.m. bedtime.

“Sammy,” The voice on the phone breathed.

It took Sam a moment to place it, and his lips curled into a smile. “Dr. Novak, what’s up?”

“Gabriel,” he corrected. “You said I could call you any time.” 

“I meant more case related,” Sam yawned, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at the TV clock. 2:12 am. “Less booty call.”

“This is work related, mostly,” Sam could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “We can get to the booty call part later, Romeo. You need to see this.”

Twenty minutes later found them driving towards the morgue, Dean yawning in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t been happy about being woken up at this hour, and Sam got an ear full of abuse before he could get in a word edgewise.

Castiel was slumped in the backseat, his head lolling against his shoulder. Sam envied his ability to sleep anywhere. Sleep evaded Sam on a good night, when he was relaxed and in his own bed, much less a strange hotel room with a killer on the loose.

Most of the morgue was dark when they pulled in, save for one room towards the back. Dean parked the car roughly, something he would never do with his baby at home and they got out.

The front door was unlocked, and the three agents walked in silence down the beat up hallway until music erupted from the lit up door down the hall.

Sam pushed the door open, to find Gabriel rocking out as Heat of the Moment blasted out of the speakers. He was singing loudly and off-key into the end of his bone saw, playing bad air guitar. He hadn’t heard them come in.

Dean turned off the stereo, ending the song abruptly. “Seriously, Asia? In a morgue?”

Gabriel flipped around, his hair falling into his eyes. “Don’t diss Asia, Agent,” he warned with a grin, his eyes catching Sam’s.

“What was so urgent you needed to wake us up for?” There was an edge of irritation in Cas’ voice as he came to the side of the table, and peeked under the white sheet where the body was.

Gabriel slapped his hand away. “No touchy, rubber gloves first please.”

Cas gave him grumpy looked and shrugged, stepping back to find gloves on the cluttered counter. He tossed a pair to Dean and then to Sam, and they put them on as well.

Gabriel motioned for them to come join him at the table, before pulling the sheet back.

Sam hadn’t gotten a good look at the body at the scene, but this was nothing like he’d imagined. When the dispatch had said partially skeletonized, Sam had expected a fresh body, with some of the bones exposed, but this vic was almost all bone, with a few ragged scraps of desiccated, dried flesh clinging to the ribs and pelvis.

He had taken a basic forensic anthropology class in college, and he could see what Gabriel had said was true from the body’s features.

The structure of the face suggested Caucasian, the shape of the pelvic inlet and obturator foramen said male.

“You were right,” Gabriel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “This was his first victim, just like you said. You got a good gut there, Sammy.”

“What makes you so sure?” Cas squinted over the body, cocking his head in the way he did when he wasn’t quite sure what to make of something.

“Because this isn’t like the others,” Gabriel provided. “The stake wasn’t shoved in until after he was decomposed. It wasn’t the cause of death, like the others.”

“The others?” Dean asked. Normally they didn’t give the medical examiners much information, afraid that it might affect how they did their autopsy.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I’m a consultant with the FBI, bucko, not some country bumpkin coroner. Spare me the agent talk, I have the same dossier you have.” he smirked at Sam.

Sam tried to hide a smile. There were very few people who dared to talk back to Dean like that.

“Anyway,” he continued. “As I was saying, the wood was stabbed into him after he was already dead, and skeletonized. His bones would have had to be dry for them to break like this,” he pointed to the hole left by the stake. “He’s been dead about a year, give or take a few months. The heat speeds decomp.”

“Any clues to cause of death?” Dean asked, giving the body a once over.

Gabriel rummaged in his pocket, spilling a flood of candy wrappers onto the floor. Finally, he retrieved a small flashlight. He shone it on the skeleton’s throat.

“See that little u-shaped bone right there?” he looked up at the agents. “That, my friends, would be the hyoid bone, broken in a third of all strangulation related deaths ,and it’s broken. My best guess is he was strangled and then dumped. The only thing I can’t tell you is if he was drained beforehand.”

Dean nodded approvingly, rubbing his chin, like he often did when he was thinking.

“It was a mistake,” Sam said suddenly, causing all three men to turn and look at him. “This was someone he knew, someone he was around. It was a crime of passion, in the moment, but he did it again and again, a compulsion or need of some sort. If we can ID the vic, we have a good chance of finding the killer.”

“Already ahead of you there, kiddo,” Gabriel chimed in, grinning like he’d won a prize. “I ran his dental records through the missing persons database. We got a hit.”

He moved to get a print out from the printer, holding it up to show Sam, Dean and Cas. “Say hello to Arnold Shortman, runaway, 27 years old from... get this,” he paused. “Slaughter, Louisiana.”

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “Slaughter?”

“It’s a small town, not far from here, less than a thousand people,” Gabriel continued. “If Sammy is right, which I don’t doubt, shouldn’t take such fine agents as yourselves long to find him.”

Castiel snorted and took the paper from Gabriel. Dean followed him out, waiting for Sam by the door.

“Sam?”

Sam turned back to Gabriel, looking like an angel in the light of the fluorescent bulbs. “You uh… have my number now… from when I called you… so uh… feel free to call if you need… uhh.. anything?”

Sam hesitated. He hadn’t had many dates since Jess died, but Dean was always telling him he should get out there more. Gabriel was funny, and cute, but just a bit...off, just like him. It probably wouldn’t work out anyway, so why not?

“I think I will,” he offered Gabriel his most charming smile.

“Let’s go, Romeo, we got a case to solve,” Dean hollered from the doorway, causing Sam to blush. “Thanks, Doc.”

To make matters worse, he tripped over his own feet as he made a move for the door, blushing even harder, unable to show his face.

“That was smooth,” Dean laughed as they walked towards the door.”Bitch.”

Sam shoved his arm playfully, “Jerk.”

~~~~  
It only took them two hours to reach Slaughter, after they’d had breakfast and coffee. It was similar to many other small towns, quaint and beautiful, ringed with large green trees.

They started by canvassing the town, trying to get a feel for that local environment, which they followed up with a visit to Mr. Shortman.

They knocked for a while on his door, before a kindly old woman informed them that Shortman was out of town and would be back sometime tomorrow.

They ended at the local watering hole, a battered old chrome diner, with its regulars and gossip. Those people always knew everything about everyone.

Of course, Dean got all the cute younger women, Sam thought, rolling his eyes as his brother flirted his way through interrogation. He was like that with everyone, men, women, as long as they were legal, and Sam got saddled with the grumpy old men, while Cas tried his hand with the elderly ladies.

He sat at a table with two men, and slid a copy of the print out Gabriel had given them across. “You recognize him?” Sam asked, tapping the picture on the table.

One of the men looked at Sam and then at his companion. “Ain’t that Shortman’s boy?”

The other man nodded. “Went missin’... oh about two years ago now? Thought he’d done run off after Benny, but he ain’t never come back.”

“Benny?”

“LaFitte,” the first man added. “They was friends since they was in diapers. Never one without ‘ta other. Not until after high school.”

Sam leaned forward on his elbows. “What happened after high school?”

“Benny had… problems,” he continued. “Schizo… schizo...something.”

“Schizophrenia?” Sam supplied.

“Yeah that’s it,” he looked at his companion and then nodded at Sam. “His daddy sent him away, to that hospital, and we ain’t seen him much after that. When Arnie went missing, we all thought he went to get Benny, but they never come back, not even when Benny’s pa died.”

“When did his father pass?” Sam asked, a familiar itch building in the back of his brain.

“‘Month after he put Benny in?” the second man responded. “No one’s been up to the place since he died. It’s condemned.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Sam smiled at them, and turned to find Dean and Cas.

It wasn’t until they were all settled in the car, on the way back to the hotel that they traded information. Dean and Cas both identified their vic was Arnold Shortman, but only Sam had the name of his closest and missing friend.

Sam was ready for bed almost immediately when they trudged into the lobby, but Dean managed to convince him to get a night cap at the hotel bar.

It turned out they weren’t the only ones.

Sam recognized Gabriel’s hunched back instantly when he spotted him, nursing something pink and fruity at the counter.

“Docto- Gabriel,” Sam called across the bar, smiling when the man looked up. “Burning the midnight oil?”

Gabriel looked up at him blearily, before offering a half-hearted smile. “Jet lag actually,” he responded. “Helps me sleep.”

“Mind some company?”

Gabriel patted the seat next to him and flagged down the bartender for him.

“Can I have a Bud Lite, please?” Sam asked, and sat down on the stool.

He felt heavy, like the two years their vic had been missing were weighing down on him. Gabriel said he’d been dead a year, but he’d been gone longer than that. Where had he gone? Why had he gone? Had someone taken him? Why-

“You always think this hard when you’re drinking?”

Sam blinked, Gabriel’s voice pulling him away from his worried musings. “Sorry. It’s been kind of a long day.”

Gabriel took a deep pull from his drink, as the bartender slid Sam his beer. “I know the feeling, kiddo. Day’s get like that when all you do is look at dead bodies.”

“That’s why I quit doing it.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him, asking for an explanation.

“I’m not an agent anymore,” Sam admitted. “I’m just a teacher.”

“And you’re here now why? Because of your special party trick?” Gabriel sounded amused.

Sam pressed the bottle to his lips and drained half of it. “You got it.”

“So you’re their serial killer sniffer dog?” he continued. “Catch all the bad guys?”

Sam took another drink. “Not all of them,”

Gabriel was silent for a second. “It’s the Candy Man, isn’t it?”

Sam wasn’t in the least bit surprised. The Candy Man Killer was all the press wanted to talk about and the FBI, even with Sam’s help, was no closer to catching him. It bothered him, but not for the reasons most people thought. He wasn’t as angry about the actual murders, as he was about not being able to figure out who was doing it.

He was an infuriatingly playful monster, one who gave his victims their “just desserts”, leaving as his calling card candy wrappers. He’d claimed three lives already and the strange part was the public wasn’t howling for his blood, but heralding him as some sort of vigilante hero, because the people he killed were criminals or worse.

It was the way he did it that made Sam want him the most. Each punishment fitted the crime to a T. The first victim, nurse Meg Masters, who’d been accused of killing her patients through overdose, was killed by lethal injection. His second victim, Azazel Smith, was a crooked banker, who made his fortune fleecing unsuspecting elderly couples of their savings, was found suffocated in his own safe. The last victim’s death was especially brutal. Alistair Diablo, a notorious animal abuser, was found eaten alive by dogs.

Sam chased him from state to state, from time zone to time zone, but no luck. Sam Winchester seemed to finally meet his match.

Sam nodded silently, pulling down another sip on his beer.

“Bothers you, doesn’t it?” Gabriel asked quietly, staring at him intently. “It would bother me too. The Shortman kid, I can feel it in my stomach. Makes sense with what you said, his first kill, someone he knew. Someone he trusted-”

Gabriel continued to ramble, but Sam’s mind was already gone, latching on to something one of the old men said. Shortman had been gone for a year before he was killed, no one had been up to the Lafitte Place for more than that...Or had they?

Sam knocked over the stool in his haste to get up, blushing madly as he tried to right it. “Dean!” he called, “I know who killed him!”

~~~~

The second trip to Slaughter only took a bit longer than the first, with the local police and SWAT providing back-up for them.

It was still dark when they pulled in at the end of the dirt driveway at the old Lafitte place, the pitch black of the night aiding their cover.

With SWAT behind them, Sam, Dean and Cas crept up to the house slowly, in complete darkness with guns at the ready.

Just like Sam had thought, the lights were on, despite the big red CONDEMNED sign. They flickered in the dark, like the light thrown off from candles.

They had to do this delicately, they had no idea what was waiting for them behind the cabin door. It had already been decided that Cas would come through the rear, and Sam and Dean, with SWAT at their back, would take the front.

The first thing Sam noticed as he got closer, was the smell. He gagged, and started to breathe through his mouth, as the odor of old blood and decomp engulfed him.

His gun was within easy reach, tucked into the back of his pants, but not visible from the front. He made his way cautiously towards the door, Dean following, careful not to make any sudden noises that might give him away too soon. He wanted to have an eye on Benny before any gunfire was exchanged.

He caught a glimpse of him through the partially broken window, bringing something to his mouth. He was disheveled, with a long tangled beard, hair matted into coarse ropes.

“Benny?” he called as he neared the front door. “Benny Lafitte?”

Sam could almost see him going stiff.

“Benny,” he said more softly than before. “We’re your friends,”

He heard him start pacing frantically, dragging his feet across the floor as he moved.

“Can you let us in?” he asked gently. “We’re here to help you.”

He heard another shuffle, and then the door opened.

To Sam’s side, he saw Dean tense for his gun, but put out a hand to stop him from taking it out. They were fine… for now.

The man before them was handsome, or rather, he had been at some point. His beard looked worse from the front, matted with what Sam knew, was blood. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin lined and flaky making him look far older than his age. He held himself with a nervous twitch, and as he moved back to let them in, Sam saw the killer from his mind.

The front room wasn’t much better, every available surface strewn with garbage and refuse. There were bowls and cups everywhere, chipped and cracked, coated in red.

Sam sucked in shallow breaths through his mouth, and smiled at Benny. “We want to help you, Benny,” he repeated. “But you have to do something for us first.”

Benny looked at them suspiciously, his wild eyes darting between him and Dean. “You can protect me from them?” he asked, his voice carrying the drawl of the area.

Sam nodded tentatively. “Them?”

Benny fixed him with an unnerving stare. “The vampires.” he looked around a moment before jamming his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

Dean looked around, and Sam could see the wheels in his head turning. Auditory hallucinations, the delusions of vampires, coupled with the violent tendencies made a good case for paranoid schizophrenia, just like the old man said.

“Is that why you killed them then?” Sam asked. “They were vampires?”

Benny nodded fervently. “I needed their blood… to make me stronger. They kept coming… to make me their king.” He plopped down on the threadbare couch.

Sam’s eyes flitted between the bowls and cups stained red… he was drinking it.

“Can you tell me about Arnie?”

Benny’s lip quivered, and for a moment Sam thought he would clam up. “He was my friend,” he said simply.

Sam sat down on the least rickety looking chair. “I know. We found him. He wasn’t a vampire, was he?”

The other man looked down and began to rock. “No,” he admitted softly. “He- he was my friend.” he paused and swallowed.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Benny stated rocking more violently, his hands pressing hard over his ears.

“I can’t protect you from the vampires if you don’t talk to me, Benny.” Sam said gently. Dean was stock still behind him.

“He busted me out of the hospital, after my pa died,” tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. “We came here, but after a while, Arnie wanted to leave,” he gulped hard. “He was gonna leave...and…”

“You couldn’t let him. He had to protect you,” Sam finished, and Benny nodded at him, the tears finally falling down his dirty cheeks.

“He c-c-came back,” Benny hiccuped, his cries erupting into full blown hysterics.

“And you staked him,” Dean added, coming forward.

Benny didn’t say anymore after that, not even when they handcuffed him and led him into the police car.

Back at the hotel, Bobby congratulated him over the phone, and offered his job back.

Sam didn’t even entertain the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	2. Hershey Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to readjust to civilian life after catching the Vampire of the Bayou, but a friendly face makes it harder than he thought.

Sam slowly slipped back into civilian life again, content in his tiny one bedroom right off Academy property. Or so he told himself.

He buried his growing loneliness in course work, and taking care of his foster mother’s place.

Ellen was the only mother he had ever known, his own mother dying in a house fire when he was just a couple months old. She and her husband, Bill had essentially adopted him and Dean, while their father was on the road during his trucking career.

She’d been diagnosed with breast cancer, and although the doctors were confident about her prognosis, the chemo still left her tired and unable to take care of her farm.

Sam was always more than happy to help. She’d taken care of him, and now it was only right that he took care of her.

It made him feel at peace, and let him sleep free of the awful, gory nightmares he suffered. It was one unfortunate side effect of his gift. The killers chased him in his dreams and more often than not, they were wearing his face. He killed his family over and over, waking up soaked to his skin, and unsure if he’d actually committed the atrocities in his head.

He’d tried everything to get rid of them, but the only thing that seemed to work was wholly exhausting himself. Jess always teased him about being a workaholic, and held him when he had nightmares.

God, how he missed her.

But Dean was right. He needed to get out there again.

In the months since the Vampire case, he’d almost texted Gabriel a couple times, but he always found himself putting the phone back down.

He was just being flirty, Sam told himself, when he thought about the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up when he laughed. You barely know him, he’d chastise when he caught himself remembering the quirk of his lips when he smiled. You only met him once, he reminded himself in the shower when he wondered what he would taste like.

‘But he didn’t make me feel like a freak,’ he smiled, as he stared down at the number in his phone

Months passed, and Sam was sure Gabriel had forgotten him by now, just another random agent in a string of cases he worked regularly.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

~~~~~~  
“Jeffrey Dahmer is the one exception,” Sam said, looking at his students over the rim of his glasses. He was teaching at the field office in Kansas, a lecture on serial killers. “Although there were rumors of sexual abuse, nothing has ever been definitively confirmed. As a child-”

The door in the back of the tiered lecture hall slammed shut, and Sam glared at what he thought was a late student.

It was Gabriel.

Sam watched as the anthropologist flopped down in a seat in the last row, put his feet up on the back of a chair, and wiggled his eyebrows at him.

He blushed, and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, as a child, Dahmer was obsessed with animals bones, often digging under his porch to find them,” He paused. “Why aren’t you all copying this down?”

The flurry of papers and pencils wasn’t quite enough to drown out Gabriel’s laughter.

~~~

“So even when you aren’t in the field, you still have to face serial killers?” Gabriel teased as the last of Sam’ student’s filed out, casting him furtive glances.

Sam shrugged, as he hefted his bag over his shoulder. “It’s what they pay me the big bucks for. What brings you to Kansas?” He tried to ignore the gentle fluttering of butterflies in his stomach.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see Gabriel, but the field office in Kansas was kind of out of the way, even for an FBI consultant.

“I give a series of lectures for the Bureau every year,” Gabriel got up from where he was sitting. “And Kansas was on my itinerary, and I heard you were here so I thought you could show me around.”

Sam tried to play along, but he wasn’t fooled in the least.

“That was my last class of the day,” Sam said, holding the door open for Gabriel. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

Gabriel smiled at him and walked into the hall. “I’m sure you could.”

Two hours later found them sitting at Sam’s favorite local watering hole, curled into his normal ratty booth off to one side. The bar had seen better days, but the Roadhouse was home, literally. His foster mother, Ellen, owned the place, and he’d been coming here since before he’d been old enough to drink legally, to work of course.

He was nursing a beer, while Gabriel sipped on a bright pink concoction of sugar and alcohol, complete with a colorful umbrella.

“I gotta ask,” Sam leaned forward on one elbow. “What’s with the girly drinks?”

Gabriel glared at him for a moment. “I hate the taste of booze,” he took another deep sip. “Mixed drinks taste better, and I have a wicked sweet tooth,”

“You’ll have a wicked hangover if you keep up like that,” Sam teased.

This felt good. It had been a while since he’d been to the bar just to hang out and have fun. He spent most nights curled up on his ratty secondhand couch, flipping through documentaries on Netflix. He still preferred his couch to the bar, but the company was infinitely better.

“I can hold my liquor, Samsquatch,” Gabriel grinned at him around his straw. “You planning on trying to get me drunk?”

Sam colored a little. “Not exactly my style,” he finished his beer, and flagged down a waitress. “So how’d you get into anthropology?”

“Ah the awkward small talk stage,” Gabriel gently taunted him. “You know that song you learn when you’re a kid, Head bone connected to the shoulder bone?”

Sam nodded, wondering where this was going.

“I fell in love and never looked back.” He twirled his umbrella. “What about you? Was an FBI agent one of baby Sammy’s dream jobs?”

Sam chuckled as the waitress walked over. He ordered another beer for himself and whatever sex themed concoction Gabriel was drinking. “I wanted to be an attorney actually,” Sam replied. “I was pre-law at Stanford, but I fell in love with the Bureau after Dean joined up.”

“Nice name drop there, kiddo,” Gabriel slurped the last bit of his drink from the glass. He lifted his pinky as he brought the cup to his lips for an ice cube. He crunched on it loudly before. “Fancy schmancy school,”  
Sam pursed his lips to hide a smile. “Where’d you go to school then?”

“University of Tennessee for undergrad and my doctorate,” he stuck out his chest with exaggerated pride. “Studied under Bill Bass himself,”

Bill Bass, Sam knew, was the man who founded the “Body Farm”, a scientific research facility used to study the decomposition of human bodies.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Sam quipped back. “Whose name dropping now?”

Gabriel flushed red across the bridge of his nose. “You caught me.”

The waitress brought their drinks and set them down gently in front of them. Gabriel reached forward for his drink at the same time as Sam reached for his. They brushed hands and Sam pulled away, grinning awkwardly.

“So… uh,” he stammered. “So the body farm huh?”

“You don’t do this much, do you?” Gabriel asked, a smile curling in his lips.

“Do what much?”

“Date.”  
Sam could feel the heat rising from his cheeks. “This is a date?”

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Gabriel laughed, reaching across the table and taking his hand. Sam shivered. “I wouldn’t come all the way to Bumblefucking, Kansas for just anyone.”

Sam couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face.

“You just gunna smile at me, or are we gunna blow this popsicle stand?”

~~~~

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. His sides were already sore from laughing so much.

Gabriel was a real cut up, and he had a story for everything. Sam didn’t know where he found the time to work with all that he did in his free time. You name it, Gabriel had done it. Sky-diving, base jumping, diving shipwrecks, he was a man with an addiction to the unsafe and daring.

And sugar.

Gabriel had the largest sweet tooth that Sam had ever seen. The entire time they were together, he was munching on various sweets he pulled out of his pockets. With the amount of sugar he ate, it was no small wonder he wasn’t a diabetic.

Finally they decided to call it a night, and Sam offered to drive Gabriel back to his room. It wasn’t far, and Sam wanted to squeeze every last ounce of companionship out of the night.

“I had a really good time, kiddo,” Gabriel ducked his head and smiled as Sam walked him to his door.

“I did too,” He admitted, returning the grin. It had been the first time in a long time that he’d clicked with someone so well he’d let his guard down.

Gabriel swiped his card through the lock and opened his door slowly.

“Wanttodothisagainsometime?” Sam blurted out suddenly, awkward in his nervousness.

“Come again, Sammy?”

Sam took a deep breath, one hand threading through the hair on the back of his head. “Want to do this again sometime?”

Gabriel offered a smile. He stood up on his tippy toes to kiss Sam on the cheek.

“I’d love to,” he replied, before slipping into his room.

Sam couldn’t help punching the air in excitement and he didn’t miss Gabriel’s whoop of glee behind the closed door.

His smile lasted all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	3. Truffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Candyman killing draws Sam back into the field. But there is something different about the tableau. Bobby suggests the killer is courting someone, but Sam isn't so sure.

Sam wasn’t at all surprised when he received a call from Bobby. The Candy Man’s latest kill was all over the news, and he’d missed three texts from Dean in the time it took him to take a shower.

“Winchester,” He said, holding his towel tight around his waist.

He nodded, listening as Bobby told him the details of the latest murder, the candy wrappers at the crime scene as usual, the strange nature of the tableau. Something had changed and they needed him to see the crime scene. He’d gotten Sam tickets for the first flight out.

Hanging up, Sam sighed. Despite his best attempts to leave, the Bureau always pulled him back.

Drying himself off, he packed quickly, shoving clothes into his weekender.

He could already tell it was going to be a long day.

~~~

The plane ride from Kansas to Indiana was short, luckily for Sam, and he touched down less than two hours after he’d gotten on the plane.

Dean met him at the airport.

“This one’s a doozy,” Dean shoved a cup of coffee into Sam’s hand, just like he took it, black, one sugar. “Different from the others,”

Sam was intrigued. “In what way?” He took a big sip of his coffee.

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It only took them a half hour to get to the crime scene, and on the surface, this one was like the other Candy Man murders.

The last three were in small rural communities, Wellington, Ohio, Springfield, Ohio, and Broward County, Florida, and now Muncie, Indiana. The bodies were laid out in enclosed areas, protected from the elements, and one final detail, a carefully placed candy wrapper as his calling card. Each victim’s death was influenced by their lives, an ironic twist on their base habits.

All of those elements were present, but as Sam stepped closer, he saw exactly what Dean had been saying. He closed his eyes, reaching inside of his killspace to seek the light mocking laughter.

This one. This one was different. Sam could see him in his mind’s eyes as he laid each piece out. Dick Roman deserved this, but it was more than that.

He looked back at the unconscious man on the floor. In his opinion, Roman deserved it more than the others, scum of the earth he was, a politician using candy to lure unsuspecting children to him.

Each piece was put in its place, each where it was supposed to be. He’d made them special just for Dick. When the pieces were in place, he dragged the man over, his hands and feet bound with duct tape.

Smiling, he put the final touches on. Everything needed to be perfect.

For him.

Sam blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, bringing himself out of his own mind.

The forensics team hadn’t moved anything, and the body of one Dick Roman, local mayor, was still lying, feet bound, on the floor.

The rest of the room looked like it could have come out of Good Housekeeping. Even though the outside was a common shed, the inside was spotless. It was newly painted, all in white, except for the main event.

In the center of the shed, was a polished wooden table, and on the table, were six brightly wrapped candies, each in a different shade of green or brown. There was only one missing and the wrapper lay on the floor next to the body.

Sam stepped forward to get a better look at the body, with the candy bar wrapper peeking out from between his fingers. There was a puddle of vomit next to his mouth, but other than that, there weren’t many clues as to how he died.

He turned to one of the uniformed officers. “What do we know about Dick Roman?”

The officer fumbled with his papers. “H-he’s the local mayor,” he stuttered.

“He’s a child molester,” A voice shouted over the man’s shoulder. “Charges never stuck. Lured his victims in with candy,”

Sam turned to find Bobby Singer, staring him in the face. He hadn’t expected him to be there.

“Good to see you, boy,” he said. He was dressed how Sam normally associated with him, beat up jeans, and a worn flannel shirt. “This is him, ain’t it?”

Sam nodded at him slowly. “It is, but there’s something different about this one,”

“That’s what I thought too,” Bobby responded. “Like he’s tryin’ to impress someone.”

Sam hesitated, but he had to agree. This was far more aesthetically pleasing than the last three murders. It would appear something had changed for the Candy Man, something that made him want to show off, if Bobby’s theory were to be believed.

“Forensics find anything?” he asked.

Bobby shook his head. “Nothing, just like the others.” 

Sam sighed. Of course not. He looked back at the tableau, his eyes drawn to the bright colored wrappers. The Candy Man was clearly trying to make a statement, but to who?

It had to be someone he knew would see it. Someone involved in the case? How did he get that information? The specifics were never released to the public.

“We need to test the candies,” Sam said suddenly, walking over to the table. He didn’t touch them, just hovered over them. From this close-up, he could see the work that had gone into the wrappers.

They weren't one solid color as he had thought, but several similar shades woven into a different color, so it appeared solid. He’d never seen anything like it. 

He watched as Garth, one of the FBI's forensic team, bagged and tagged the candies.

“Call me as soon as you get the results,”

“Yessir,’ Garth replied, placing the bagged candies inside a larger bag for transportation.

“What? You think they’re poisoned?” Dean asked.

“Of course they’re poisoned, Dean,” Sam replied, stepping out of the shed. The closed environment was clogging his head. “What would be the fun if they weren’t?”

“The fun?” His brother gave him an odd look.

“He’s all about fun,” Sam explained, running a hand through his hair as he walked towards the car. “He tries to hide his urges behind righteousness, but it’s all about enjoyment. If it was just about punishing them for their transgressions, he could shoot them in the head and be done with it. It would be easier, but no, he has to set them up just so.”

Dean nodded. “He wouldn’t go through all the trouble. Why is this one different?”

“He set this up with someone else in mind, someone who wasn’t there for the other murders. A new boyfriend or girlfriend maybe, someone he’s hoping to impress.” Sam answered.

“It’s not like they show the crime scene on the news though,” Dean replied. “How is that someone going to see his little presentation?”

“It has to be someone involved in the case,” Sam deduced, opening the door of the car. “Someone who he knows is involved. He wouldn’t risk showing the wrong people,”

“It could be any one of us,” Dean pointed out, slipping into the driver’s seat, and gunning the engine. Chief Singer had his own car. “We’ve all been on TV, given interviews,”

“Someone’s got his attention alright,” Sam pushed the seat back and got comfortable, taking out his phone to text Gabriel. “I feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

~~~

His hands squeezed the life from the neck of the body below him. He could feel the panicked fluttering of his pulse beneath his fingers. Sam felt the hyoid bone break under his thumbs, watched as the life in the green eyes died.

All he could hear was laughter.

His hands were already covered in blood, and they left handprints on his neck and torso. His victim was dead, totally under his control, his forever and ever.

He looked down at the body as he got up.

It was Dean.

Sam awoke with a start, his skin cold and clammy.

“Sir?”

The voice startled him into action. He was standing in the hallway of his motel, dressed only in a threadbare set of gym shorts he used for sleeping.

In front of him was the night manager. “Sir? Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. “No,” he started. “No, I’m fine, just sleep walking. Happens when I sleep in strange places.”

She nodded and resumed her rounds.

Sam looked around, and sighed. The more frequently he went out with the team, the worse his dreams had gotten, to the point where he couldn’t tell where the dream world ended and the real world began.

He looked down at his palms.

They were tacky with dried blood.

For a moment, Sam panicked. He ran towards Dean’s room, at the other side of the hall and banged loudly on the door. His heart pounded as each silent second turned into torturous minutes.

But then there was a scuffle from within, and Dean emerged, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Wassup?”

Sam stared at his brother. He was alive, he hadn’t killed him.

“Uhh sorry,” he blushed hard. “I’ll just go back to bed.”

“Another nightmare?”

Sam nodded, hanging his head in shame. “I killed you. Again,” he showed Dean his palms. “I panicked.”

Dean reached for his hand, observing the stain. “You were digging your nails into your hands, dude.”

Sam took a closer look, and saw the perfect crescent shaped cuts in the meat of his palm; blood was clotting in them.

“It was so real, Dean,” He said quietly. “I thought I actually did it this time.”

Dean patted him on the shoulder. “You didn’t though,” he yawned. “Now go back to bed.”

He turned and shut the door. Sam had no other choice but to make his way back to his room.

He gently washed the blood from his hands, and patted them dry with a towel, leaving little pink blotches. Slowly he got back into bed, careful to avoid the left side, damp from his dreams before.

Sam was almost afraid to sleep, scared of what his sleeping self might do. Finally, he got up and shoved the hotel armchair against the door, before pouring himself two fingers of whiskey from the bottle he’d put on the nightstand.

Hopefully that would stop him if he tried to get out again.

He sat for moment, sipping at the whiskey and thinking his dream over. It wasn’t the first dream he’d had about killing his brother; it was one of many, but this one was different. He’d never not been able to tell if he’d actually acted on the visions in his head.

Swallowing the last of his drink, and setting the glass on the table, Sam laid back in bed and stared at the ceiling.

He was almost asleep when his phone rang.

Grumbling to himself, he rolled over and grabbed it. “Winchester.”

“Aren’t you grumpy this morning?” Said a cheery voice in his ear.

“Donna, it’s 3 am,” he retorted weakly, running a hand through his hair.

“You said to call when the results came in,” Donna, one of their forensics team, chirped back. He had no idea how she was always so upbeat, especially given the nature of the work they did.

“I’ll be right over.”

“Good.” He could tell she was smiling. “Bring donuts.”

~~~~

Three stops later, Sam found himself carrying a box of donuts and coffee towards the door of the mobile forensic lab.

Donna greeted him at the door. Garth and their supervisor, Jodi Mills, were bent over their workstations, working with the candies Garth had bagged at the scene.

Sam put the donuts and coffee down on Jodi’s desk. “I come bearing gifts,” he said. “Now what have you got?”

Donna squealed and helped herself to a powdered donut. Garth and Jodi were slower, shucking off their latex gloves.

“If I didn’t know any better, Sam,” Jodi smiled at him before carefully selecting a sugar raised jelly donut. “I would think you were only coming here for the results.”

Sam grinned sheepishly back at her and took a donut, a plain cake donut with no sugar on it.

“You were right about the poisons,” Jodi said mildly, wrapping her donut in a napkin for later. “Each candy is a different kind of poison. Some are faster acting than others, but each present in an amount sure to cause death,”

“Do you know which one he ate?”

“We have to wait for the tox screen from the ME, but there were traces of Oleander on the wrapper,” Jodi informed him. “Sick bastard let him chose his own way to die.”

Sam nodded. That fit the Candy Man’s normal pattern. “Any prints on the wrappers?”

Jodi shook her head. “ Nothing, not even a smudge. The candies were homemade, Divinity if I’m not mistaken, but there’s not a trace on them. Nothing special about the ingredients, either.”

Sam wasn’t surprised. The Candy Man was meticulous in a way he had never seen before, and he didn’t make mistakes. The handmade candies and wrappers were something new, something unique, but they still gave him nothing in the way of catching him. 

“The wrappers are hand-painted,” Jodi continued. “Water colors, but nothing traceable. The main color components are brown, green and blue, and when mixed, are the color of hazel eyes.”

Sam’s heart skipped a beat.

Hazel, just like his.

He mentally shook himself. Around eight percent of the population had hazel eyes, approximately 560 million people worldwide.

“Thanks Jodi,” Sam replied. “Can you make me a list of the other poisons?”

“Way ahead of you,” she smiled again, handing him a manila folder. “The chemical breakdown and everything.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Jodi,” he tucked the folder underneath his arm. “Thank you.”

“Thanks for the donuts!” Donna called, and Sam departed the trailer laughing.

It was still early when he arrived back at the hotel, around five am, so Sam made himself a cup of coffee and opened the file Jodi gave him.

Not including the oleander-laced candy that Roman had eaten, there were six other poisons present in the samples: Hemlock, azaleas, arsenic, cyanide, strychnine, and cottonmouth venom, one in each piece. 

He booted up his computer in an effort to deduce any hidden meaning in the candy.

With hemlock, he learned, that all parts of the plant are poisonous. It would only take thirty minutes for the symptoms to become apparent, but several hours to die from its effects. The azalea candy would have caused the victim nausea, vomiting, seizure, coma and death, but wouldn’t have taken hold until six hours after he’d eaten in. Arsenic in a high enough dose, like a present in the candy, could kill very quickly, only leaving an inflamed stomach. Cyanide, often found in the pits and seeds of fruits, would internally asphyxiate the victim, leaving him with cherry red blood and pink skin. Strychnine, a colorless powder, would cause severe convulsions and death soon after being ingested.

He was more familiar with the effects of snake venom and oleander. Cottonmouths were some of the deadliest snakes in North America. Their venom would cause paralysis and death soon after if the anti-venom wasn’t given. Oleander, like the digitalis plant, was a cardiac stimulant causing sweating, vomiting, respiratory paralysis, and then death. It began working almost immediately. 

If he had to pick, he would probably prefer the oleander. At least it was quick.

Sam was torn from his thoughts by a knock at the door. He stuffed his notes and the print out into the folder and turned to answered the door.

Dean was standing there, holding a cup of coffee. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Sam stifled a yawn and shook his head. “Donna called with the test results on the candy.”

“And? Fill me in?” Dean leaned against the door frame.

“Over breakfast?” Sam asked. He was starving, and could use another cup of coffee.

“You got it.”

~~~~

Sam waited until the waitress brought their food, pancakes for Dean and fruit salad and yogurt for Sam, before bringing Dean up to speed on the poisons.

“But no forensics? Hairs? Fibers? Nothing?” Dean blustered, shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

Sam sighed, toying with a strawberry on his plate. “Nothing, Dean, just like the last three.”

Dean huffed into his breakfast. “Back to Kansas for you then?”

“Bobby got me a position teaching back at Quantico,” Sam shrugged. He’d tried to decline, but Ellen had almost beaten him around his head when he mentioned it. She hired someone to help her and sent him packing. “And Ellen tossed me out. I have no choice but to come back. Tough love.”

Dean laughed at him. “That sounds just like her,” He finished eating, sloppily licking the spoon. “What?”

“You’re gross, you know that?” Sam grinned, despite himself. “What’s it for you and Cas then?”

“Wherever the wind takes us,” Dean dragged a finger over his plate and licked it. Sam rolled his eyes again.

Sam’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to check who it was. He couldn't help but grinning when he saw it was from Gabriel.

He rummaged for his wallet and threw money down on the table.

“What’s the rush?” Dean smirked knowingly at him. “You got a hot date?”

“You could say that,”

~~~~~

Gabriel was waiting for him in his room when he got back to the hotel.

“How’d you get in here?” He laughed, dropping his jacket and bag next to the nightstand.

Gabriel looked up from his drink with a smirk. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he held his glass up. “Care to join me?”

“I think I will,” he said, crossing the room and sitting in the chair opposite Gabriel. “Since it’s my booze you’re drinking.”

He helped himself to a glass, and poured three fingers of whiskey, before settling back into the chair.

“So what brings you to Muncie?” He asked lightly, watching the anthropologist over the rim of his glass. He was dressed casually in a worn maroon t-shirt and faded jeans, paired with black leather boots. His hair was damp, and looked freshly washed, glinting against the dull light from the dingy lamp in the corner.

“Work as always,” Gabriel mused, taking a sip. Sam couldn’t keep his eyes of the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Lecture at Indiana Academy of Science, Mathematics and Humanities. Been here around a week,”

“Anything interesting?”

“Anthropology and Entomology,” he finished off the glass and moved to pour himself another. “Bugs and bones.”

Sam smiled at him. “So can I treat you to lunch?”

“How about we order room service and watch a movie?” The corner of Gabriel’s lips curled into the seeds of a grin.

“Did you just Netflix and chill me?” Sam bit his lip, swirling the dregs in on his whiskey.

“I think I just did, Winchester,” Gabriel challenged back. “What’cha gunna do about it?”

Sam didn’t say a word, he just put his glass down and came forward, pressing his lips against Gabriel’s.

God, did it feel good to kiss someone again. He missed having someone to feel close to like this, to have someone to hold.

Gabriel’s hands tangled in his hair, yanking him closer as he ravaged his mouth, teeth clacking together in his haste for more.

Sam laughed lightly into Gabriel’s mouth. He’d wanted to kiss him since the moment he met him.

Gabriel pulled away, and stood up, dragging Sam over to the bed by the lapels of his suit. He sat down heavily on the bed, yanking him so Sam had to put his arms out to keep from crushing Gabriel underneath him.

“Gabe-”

“What?” Gabriel looked up at him, his pupils blown wide. Sam could feel the heat from his hands through the thin material of his dress shirt.

He felt his face flush with heat. He wanted him, but would Gabriel think he was easy? It had been so long since he’d done anything like this, he felt like a scared teenager.

“Stop thinking so damn much,” Gabriel nipped at his bottom lip, hands moving to undo his buttons. He waited until Sam kissed him again to go any farther.

Sam had almost forgotten what this felt like, the fluttering in his stomach as Gabriel’s lips found their way up his neck and latched onto his ear lobe, or the thud of his heart against his rib cage when his hands unbuckled his belt.

Sam kissed him hard again, and rolled off of him to wiggle out of his blazer and his unbuttoned shirt. Gabriel took the opportunity to swing his leg over Sam’s hips, straddling his waist and pinning his arms above his head.

“We don’t have to go any farther if you don’t want to, kiddo,” Gabriel whispered, loosening his grip. “It’s your choice. We can just cuddle and watch a movie, if you want,”

Sam responded by rolling his hips up against Gabriel’s, drawing a growl from him. Sam could feel how hard he was already, and he repeated the action.

Gabriel ground back down against him, dipping his head to capture the groan that ripped from his throat.

They stayed like that for a moment, exploring each other’s mouths, until Sam wrenched his hands out from under Gabriel’s, and he grabbed the hem of Gabriel’s shirt and pulled it off, wanting him to be as uncovered as he was.

He ran his hands over the softness of Gabriel’s love handles, the planes of his ribs, the dip of his collarbone, until he finally tangled his hands in the soft hair he’d been dying to touch and pulled him down to meet his lips.

Gabriel moaned into his mouth, mapping the expanse of Sam’s chest, and abs with his fingertips. His hands were trembling.

In the past few minutes, Sam forgot all about the FBI and the Candy Man, his mind wholly saturated with the feel and smell of the man on top of him.

He sucked in harshly as Gabriel resumed touching him, trailing down until he was fingering the waistband of Sam’s dress pants. With nimble fingers, he undid the button, and slid the zipper down, before slipping his hand inside.

Sam forgot how to breathe.

Everything felt so damn good, he could do little else but buck up into Gabriel’s grasp, seeking more friction, and Gabriel obliged, tightening his grip on Sam’s shaft through the material of his boxers.

Gabriel chuckled. “What do you say we get you out of these?” He suggested, his voice much lower than normal.

Sam nodded fervently, making quick work of his pants and boxers as soon as Gabriel let him free.

Gabriel stood at the end of the bed, staring at him. 

Sam blushed, feeling his eyes taking every inch of him.

Noticing his redness, Gabriel smirked and undid his fly, letting the jeans drop to the ground. He was wearing nothing underneath.

He moved to cup Sam’s cheek. “God, you're beautiful,” he whispered, fingers sliding into Sam’s hair and pulling him close. 

Sam had never had anyone call him beautiful before, handsome, hot, but never beautiful. A warm, fluttery feeling bloomed in his stomach, and he flushed again.

“I wish I could paint you like this,” Gabriel murmured, pushing Sam back into the bedspread, and kissing him. 

He trailed down from his lips, to his neck and over his collar bone. “I'd paint here,” he kissed it lightly, before dipping lower.

“And here,” 

Lower.

“And here,”

Lower

“And here,”

Sam could do nothing but groan as Gabriel enveloped him with his warm, wet mouth. 

He thrust up as Gabriel bobbed over him, fisting at the bedspread until Gabriel grabbed his hand and steered them to his hair.

Sam took the hint.

Threading his fingers in his soft, golden locks, Sam arched up into Gabriel’s mouth, using his hair to guide him.

Gabriel hummed happily around him, sending shivers through him like he's never felt before, and he bit back a loud cry. 

Sam couldn't stop himself from gripping his hair harder, as Gabriel slurped at the sweet spot under the head.

He knew he wasn't going to last long, it had been awhile since he's gotten any action besides his own hand, and Gabriel felt incredible.

“Gabe,” he said, his heart hammering as he looked up at him, lips wrapped firmly around Sam’s cock. “Gabe, you can stop. I’m gunna-”

But Gabriel didn't stop.

He picked up his pace, his hand cupping Sam’s balls lightly in his hand.

Sam came with a loud groan, hands wrapped tightly in Gabriel’s hair as he shot down his throat.

Breathing heavily, he untangled his fingers and flopped back against the duvet, pushing his sweaty hair off his face.

“Wow,” Sam panted, looking down into Gabriel’s smirking face. “Just- wow.”

Gabriel crawled up the bed, lips hovering just short of Sam’s, and Sam pulled him down and kissed him hard, searching for the taste of himself he knew was there on his tongue.

It was as Gabriel pressed against him, he became aware of his cock pressed against the side of Sam’s leg.

Gently Sam propped himself up, and pushed Gabriel down on the bed, smirking at him as he climbed on top of him.

Gabriel looked up at him with pupils so wide he couldn't see the gold of his irises.

Sam slid his hands down Gabriel’s shoulders, over his chest and down his slight belly, before leaning over to whisper in his ear. 

“I want you to fuck me with that fat cock,”

Sam could hear Gabriel’s breath hitch, and feel the involuntary roll of his hips against Sam’s stomach.

“Sam,” he breathed. “But-”

Sam just grinned at him.

“I know you can’t tonight,” he said, taking him in his hand. They'd have to work up to that. “But when you can,” he teased, nibbling at his ear. “I want to ride you.”

He sped up his pace, pressing Gabriel down with his hips. “I want to impale myself on your cock, so you can watch as you fuck me,” 

Gabriel was panting in his ear now, his hands scrabbling for purchase as he thrust up into Sam’s hand erratically. “I want you to split me open, fill me up over and over,”

He could feel Gabriel’s balls draw up against him. He knew he was close.

Gabriel whimpered as Sam bent over his ear again.

“I want to cum on just your cock,”

That was it. Gabriel came all over Sam’s hand and his stomach, trembling through his orgasm. 

Sam climbed off him gently, smug that he'd reduced Gabriel to a quivering mess with just his hands and his words. He laid down next to him, looking at him expectantly. 

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, kid,” he burst out, breathy and shaky. “Who would have thought you had a mouth like that on you? Holy shit, that was hot,”

He rolled over to grab a towel off the floor and wipe himself down before handing the towel to Sam.

When Sam had cleaned himself, he pulled Gabriel closer and kissed him hard, the buzz that normally dominated his thoughts dulled to a low hum. “Does that mean you’ll keep me then?” He teased.

Gabriel regarded him for a moment, a stillness that Sam had never seen ghosting over his face. But he broke into his signature grin soon enough.

“Sammy, with a mouth like that, I'm never letting you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	4. Sponge Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A female killer who kills abusers has the gang stumped.

Sam had been teaching at Quantico a little over three months the first time Bobby came to visit him. He didn’t look up when he heard the door of his office open.

“My office hours aren’t until 4,” he said, fumbling to try and find his grade book. It was buried in the mound of ungraded papers he had to finish before tomorrow.

“Looks like you’ll be reschedulin’.”

Sam looked up to find that the Deputy Section Chief had plopped himself down in the worn wing-backed chair he kept for visitors.

“Hello, Bobby,” Sam gulped, sitting down in his own chair. If Bobby was coming to see him personally, something was very wrong. Again. “What can I do for you?”

Bobby chuckled. “You know why I’m here, boy,” he said. “We got another one.”

Sam sighed. He was just getting used to life in Quantico too. “Of course there is,” he admitted. “What have we got this time?”

“Three men and one woman shot to death in Brewster, Massachusetts,” Bobby nodded. “All their spouses have alibis. Nothing from ballistics so far. Untraceable, small caliber, but that’s about it. Nothing off the bodies either. The last one we found was skeletonized. ”

Sam perked up. “You calling in Anthropology?”

“Already did. Dr. Novak’ll meet you there,” Bobby nodded.

Sam tried to hide his grin.

“Anything else about it that stands out?” He gathered the papers in front of him. He supposed he could grade them on the plane.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“We’ll see,” Sam shrugged, shoving the papers into his briefcase. “When’s my plane?”

~~~

Sam had never been to Massachusetts, but he liked it almost immediately. It had a lot of charm, and old-world flair. He could settle down in a place like this, he thought mildly, looking out the window at the passing trees and houses.

They were meeting Gabriel at the scene where the last body was found, so Sam could get a feel for the killer.

His heart was in his throat. He’d been talking to Gabriel practically non- stop, texting and Skyping with him at every opportunity, but he hadn’t seen him in person since the night they spent together in Indiana. Between Sam’s classes, and Gabriel’s crazy work schedule, they just hadn’t had the time.

The very thought of seeing Gabriel again put Sam’s normally logical mind into panicked overdrive. Did Gabriel want to see him again? Would it even work out if they started dating? How would they be able to spend time together?

Luckily for him, Dean’s rough stop pulled him from his own head. He slipped out of the car, palms sweating lightly in his nervousness.

He followed Cas and Dean towards the police tape, looking for Gabriel, only to find him crouched in the dirt.

Gabriel stood up when he saw them, wiping his hands on his pants. “Agents,” he held out his hand for Dean to shake, followed by Cas, and then finally for Sam.

“Good to see you, Sam,” he said, his eyes twinkling at him. “Dean, Cas. Follow me.”

He motioned off to the side, behind a large red sugar maple tree.

“We found the body there,” Gabriel explained, pointing at the markers. “Caucasian Male, 35 years of age, around six feet tall…”

He deserved it, the bastard, the killer thought, dragging the body to its final resting place. It was heavy, almost too heavy. No one would ever know the killer was strong enough to drag the body all the way from the car.

The gun was small caliber, something easily concealable under a suit jacket or in a briefcase, easy for people to let the killer get close. They didn’t suspect anything from them.

The killer made no attempt to cover the body, just dumped it in a secluded spot like the others. They would never be able to find...her?

By the time Sam came out of his killspace, the familiar laughter echoing in his mind, Gabriel was almost done with his doctor mumbo-jumbo, and he winked at Sam, when Cas and Dean weren’t looking at him.

“I’ll need one of you to come back to the lab with me, there should be some results waiting,” he was saying.

“I’ll do it,” Sam volunteered, and Dean slapped him on the shoulder.

“Good man, Sammy,” Dean smiled, and nudged Cas. “We’ll catch you for dinner?”

Sam nodded, his heart spasming in panic. He watched them walk back to the car and drive off.

“My car is this way, Agent,” Gabriel stuffed his hands into his pockets, and began to walk away.

Sam followed.

He was about to reach for the passenger side door handle of Gabriel’s rented SUV, when he found himself pressed against the door, Gabriel pinning him down.

His lips were over Sam’s in a minute as Gabriel pulled him into it.

Sam didn’t pull away until he needed to breathe.

“God, I missed you,” Gabriel breathed against him, his hand cupping Sam’s cheek.

Sam grinned as he kissed him back.

“Did you make up test results so you could get me alone?”

Gabriel smirked at him. “I’m desperate, Sambo, but I’m not that desperate.” He stepped back, pulling his keys out of his pocket and twirling them around his finger. “Time to get to work.”

~~~  
“So” Gabriel said as they pulled into the parking lot of the local Medical Examiner’s office. “Did you get anything when we were at the crime scene?”

“A little bit,” Sam admitted, twiddling his thumbs nervously. “Not enough to get a full profile though. Just enough to get me started. I think the killer is a female.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “A female serial killer,” he said skeptically. “Really… that’s interesting. What makes you say that?”

“The location of the body,” Sam flushed a little. He didn’t normally talk about his process, not with anyone, even Dean. “That bush is the first obstacle from the road. The victim was what? Six feet tall. The killer couldn’t drag him any further. Could also be a small man.”

Gabriel nodded in approval. “You really are good at this,”

“That’s what they tell me,” Sam grinned at the praise. They pulled into a parking spot, and Gabriel killed the engine. He took the keys and swung out of the car, and Sam followed.

The local medical examiner's office was a little better than he expected. Most of the offices he’d visited as part of his jobs had seen better days, but this one looked to be recently updated. The chairs in the lobby were red leather, with wooden armrests and the floor looked wooden.

The only thing that never changed was the smell.

Sam should have been used to the smell of formaldehyde by now, but there was no getting used to it. It was the kind of smell that stuck to the inside of your nostrils, and saturated your clothes all the way down to your underwear.

The body was laid out on the table, some of the bones exposed. The clean skull was sitting on a table nearby.

“Cause of death as far as I can tell was a gunshot wound, something small caliber, to the chest. It notched his ribs in the front and glanced off one in the back,” Gabriel explained, motioning over the body. “I did a scan of the skull to try and get an ID, dental records and a facial reconstruction.”

Sam stared down at the bones intently, willing them to tell him something to help him catch his killer.

“You see this,” he indicated a bony projection on one of the right arm bones. “This is a enthesophyte.”

Sam, who had a rudimentary knowledge of forensic anthropology, gave him a confused look. “Gabriel, English?”

Gabriel’s resulting smile was smug. “In layman’s terms it’s known as a musculoskeletal marker,” he explained. “A place where a muscle was attached to bone. Repeated actions or a demanding physical lifestyle can cause the tendons and ligaments to ossify in order for the body to handle the load. Ever heard of cowboy’s thumb?”

Sam shook his head.

“Cowboy’s thumb is a condition of the muscles and bones from a cowboy’s hand sustained when gripping the pommel of the saddle, or being thrown from a horse in a rodeo.” He continued. “People’s occupations and habits shape their bones.”

“So what does that one say about this guy?” Sam asked, he was intrigued. He vaguely wondered what his skeleton would tell Gabriel about him.

“He picked up heavy things frequently,” his eyes flicked down the bone. “I’ve seen these in body builders and construction workers, but I’m leaning towards construction worker.”

Gabriel picked up the ulna, and showed Sam a faint line of remodeled bone. “And this tells me he was abused, most likely as an adolescent,” There was a sad tone to his voice. “Spiral fracture. Someone twisted his arm hard enough that it broke. I found other healed fractures on his scapula and ribs. Common in cases of child abuse.”

Sam put a comforting hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “We’ll get whoever is doing this,”

Gabriel turned and smiled at him. “I know you will, Sammich,” The nickname made Sam feel warm and fuzzy. “You’re the serial killer whisperer.”

“Not without your help, bone whisperer,”

Gabriel grinned. “You’re lame,”

Sam could only laugh, feeling happier than he had in a long time.

~~~

It didn’t take them long to find out the identity of the dead man, and Dean, Castiel and Sam went to break the news to his widow.

She answered on the second knock, looking at them out of the peephole before opening the door.

“Can I help you?”

She was a tall, handsome woman, with mousy brown hair and blue eyes.

Dean held up his badge. “Mrs. Conlin, we’re from the FBI. Can we please come inside?”

“Is it about Jack?” She asked, opening the door wider for them.

Dean checked his paperwork and nodded. “When was the last time you saw your husband, ma’am?”

She led them into a small sitting room. It was neat but cozy, worn in a way that said it was used regularly. The pastel floral sofa sagged a little towards the middle and there was a permanent dip that spoke of someone’s favorite seat. There was also a large black leather La-Z-E Boy recliner, but that way it was pushed off to one side made it clear it hadn’t been used in a while. Sam took the loveseat.

“Did you find him?” She said.

“I hate to tell you this, Mrs. Conlin,” Cas started. “But your husband is dead.”

She didn’t look surprised. She sunk down onto the couch. “How did it happen?”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Dean asked again, sitting in the recliner.

Mrs. Conlin wrung her hands. “We’ve been separated for almost two years,” she told them. “There’s a restraining order,”

Dean nodded. “And your husband abided by that?”

“Not in the beginning,” her hands had begun to shake. “I thought he m-moved on,”

“He’s been dead at least a year,” Cas put in. “Mrs. Conlin, does your husband have any enemies? Anyone who would want to do him harm?”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Jack was a mean drunk,” she explained. “He got into plenty of bar fights, spent a couple nights in prison.”

“Did he ever get rough with you?” Dean pressed.

Mrs. Conlin looked down at her hands, her knuckles white.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Sam said, glaring at his brother. Something in his mind slid into place, resounding inside his brain “You’ve been helpful.”

Sam waited until they got into the car before he started talking. “Jack Conlin was a wife beater,” he started.

“So was….” He flipped through one of his files. “Anthony Molino, first victim.”

He grabbed another file, and then another. “Thomas Baxter, second victim had four domestic violence complaints. The female vic, Jane Martin, had two.”

“He’s picking them off, you think?” Dean asked.

“She,” Sam corrected. “She knows about the violence somehow, and she’s making them pay for it. Another Aileen Wuornos.”

All of them were familiar with the story of Aileen Wuornos, a female serial killer who broke the mold. Most female killers were one of two types: “black widows”, who killed their husbands, children and others in their care, or “angels of death”, nurses who killed their patients. Wuornos, a prostitute who killed seven men in Florida, was neither.

“If we can figure out how these women are connected, we can figure out who our killer is,” Sam continued. “She knows them all intimately, knows about the abuse.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Dean put in. “ It’s gunna be a long night.”

He wasn’t wrong. They spent the better part of the night making phone calls and rounding up every record on the victims and their families that could be had. Cas commandeered the hotel fax machine and was pulling every police report and memo.

Sam had the files spread across the both of the beds in his room, and a large sheet of paper draped over the small table, trying to see if there was anything all of the victim’s wives had in common.

“Okay, Mary Conlin and Andrea Molino attended the same church,” Sam said, looking down at his papers.

Dean scribbled it down, making a web on the paper with a marker.

“Abigail Martin and Mary Conlin had the same judge at their hearings,” Sam noted, sending Dean writing furiously again.

Cas pushed the door open, clutching a fresh sheaf of papers. “I think this is the last of it. Thomas Baxter’s court file.” He dropped on the bed and Sam snatched it.

He flipped the thick packet open, skimming through motions, notes, and court detritus. “Different judge, different court…” he stopped as he flicked open a transcript of the proceedings. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Can you check the Molino transcript? What’s the social work company?” he asked.

Dean took the file and scanned over it. “Safe Horizons,”

Sam tapped on the name in the Baxter file. “Here too,” he made a grab for the Conlin file. “And here,”

“Here too,” Dean smiled at him from over the top of the Martin file. “Guess we got our connection.”

“Just the beginning of it.”

~~~~

Safe Horizons was an old brick and mortar building that had seen better days. There was a security guard by the door, and he made Sam, Dean and Cas write their names in his book, and slide their badges under the glass, before he let them behind the door.

There was a plump middle-aged woman waiting for them as they entered the lobby. “Can I help you, agents?”

“We’d like to speak to you about your social workers,” Sam started. “Specifically the ones who work in domestic violence.”

The woman sighed. “I’ll let you talk to Ms. Ritter,” she said, motioning for them to follow him down a dingy hallway.

Ms. Ritter turned out to be a slender African American woman, with fingerprint smudged glasses perched on the tip on her nose. “Can I help you?”

Cas, Dean and Sam sat in the chipped plastic chairs in front of her desk. Sam barely fit in his, feeling like he was in kindergarten.

“Ma’am,” Sam started. “We’re here investigating a recent string of murders. The victims were all domestic abusers, and their spouses were clients of yours as ordered by the judge,” he explained. “I know you can’t tell us much on them, but can you take us through the basic DV case from start to finish?”

Cas cocked his head at him, as if to say, what are you up to?

Ms. Ritter’s lips thinned. “When a case comes in, a social worker is assigned. From there, the social worker acts as their liaison between the courts, and gets them anything they need.”

“Such as?”

“Child care if they need it, help finding a job, therapy, support groups, that kind of thing,” Ms. Ritter said.

“Do you run your own support groups?” Sam asked her. 

She nodded. “We have sessions twice a week. We recommend it to all our clients, and most of them attend.”

He knew they’d have to get a court order for the specific names, but at least this was a start. They had a common denominator in the lives of their victims.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Sam said standing up. “You’ve been a big help. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

“She’s using the support groups as a hunting ground,” Sam said, as they cleared the glass doorway. “I’m willing to bet my life on it.”

Cas nodded in approval. “That’s how she knows about the abuse,” he added. “She listens. She’s probably a victim of abuse herself.”

“Most serial killers are,” Dean put in, taking the car keys out of his pocket. “The question is, how do we catch her?”

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance. “Like you catch any other animal,” Cas replied.

“You set a trap.”

~~~

“I don’t understand why it has to be me, Dean,” Sam glared at his brother, as he leaned on a desk.

“You’re the biggest,” Dean pointed out. “And besides, Gabriel already likes you. It’ll seem more natural.”

Sam colored. Even though he hadn't told Dean about his relationship with Gabriel, Dean wasn’t blind. The moment Gabriel had volunteered to help with their plan, Dean suggested Sam act as the other half of their bait.

“You don’t even have to do anything,” Dean continued. “Just sit there and wait for her to come for you. SWAT’ll be there. Cas and I’ll be there. You’re perfectly safe.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it then?”

“I think we’re rushing in to this,” Sam said honestly. “We need more time to study-”

“And wait for someone else to die?” Dean argued.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Dean,” Sam sighed. “It’s reckless.”

“I know,” Dean conceded. “But we don’t have much of a choice. Her cooling off period is getting shorter.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He hated being forced like this, just charging in without having a full understanding of who and what they were dealing with. “Get Gabriel,” he stood up. “We need to prep him.”

Sam had been completely against Gabriel helping out, and it had nothing to do with the fact they were sleeping together. Gabriel didn’t have any training, he was purely a scientist. If things went wrong, he could get seriously hurt or even killed. But Gabriel had insisted and Bobby okayed it, pointing out that because Gabriel wasn’t FBI, the target was less likely to suspect him.

“Hey kiddo.”

Gabriel entered the room, hands shoved in his pockets, with Dean trailing close behind. He sat down heavily on a plastic chair, opposite the desk where Sam was sitting.

“You read the dossier?” Sam asked him, giving him a once over. He looked much like the first time they met, every inch a scientist with his smart slacks and white coat.

“Yeah, I read your packet,” Gabriel responded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do I have to be the one to go to therapy? Is it because I’m short?”

Dean chuckled, and Sam felt the beginning of a migraine. “It’s because you aren’t an agent. Can we-”

“You’re not an agent either!” Gabriel fired back.

“Yeah, but I was. I’ve had all the training and -”

“That’s exactly why you should go. You know what to look for.” Gabriel pointed out, interrupting Sam again.

“Gabriel.”

“Sammich?” He smirked.

Despite his annoyance, Sam felt himself smiling. “Gabe, she’s going to come after one of us. I’d rather it be me.”

“Awww Sammy,” Gabriel simpered. “I didn’t know you cared.” He theatrically fluttered his eyelashes, and Dean snorted, ducking out of the room before erupting in laughter.

Sam sighed again.

“Can we not do this right now, Gabe?” Sam questioned, leaning with his elbows on his knees. “We need to be as prepared as possible. No more kidding around.”

Gabriel got up from his chair and kissed Sam tenderly. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll behave myself.”  
Sam felt his annoyance loosening, and he took Gabriel’s hand and squeezed it.

“Ready?” He asked.

“For you, I’m always ready.”

~~~

The trap was set. Now all they had to do was wait.

Sam had never liked waiting, it made him feel nervous and off-kilter. He hated feeling helpless, letting others put themselves in danger.

All he could think about was Gabriel.

Gabriel, who was lying his way through a domestic violence support group. Gabriel, who was sitting in a room with the killer of four people. Gabriel, who was in harm’s way.

Sam couldn’t stand the thought.

He was sitting in a dingy motel room, wearing a Kevlar vest under his dirty t-shirt, holding a beer can filled with coffee. He was safe, with Dean and Cas in the next room, a sniper on the roof and SWAT on call.

According to the killer’s MO, she’d come after him either tonight or tomorrow. Each kill was within a day or two of the support group meeting, and they made sure Gabriel had a horrifying story sure to get her attention.

The whole thing made Sam feel dirty, covered in a slime he couldn’t wash off. They were putting innocent civilians in danger, men and women who were already victims, and for what? For scumbag abusers?

Sam would never tell anyone, but there were times when he questioned what they did. He didn’t condone murder, but he wondered if it wasn’t better in some cases.

He checked his watch. Gabriel would be just getting out of the meeting, ready to be scooped up and driven to safety by another team of agents. That was part of Sam’s concern, that Gabriel be out of harm’s way when things went down.

He turned on the TV, and settled down with his pizza and “beer” to wait.

But she didn’t come that night, or the night after. When she hadn’t come to him by the third night, they thought they had miscalculated, but Sam convinced the team to stick it out for one more night.

He was right.

It was a quarter to eleven when the door handle started jiggling. Sam was pretending to be passed out on the couch, the tv in front of him fading into static.

He pressed the button on his comm three times, his signal to Dean and then stuffed it into the couch beneath him.

As if on cue, that door swung open to reveal a woman with a black bob, matching black trench coat and torturous looking high-heeled pumps. She had a small leather bag slung over her left shoulder and a gun pointed at him with her right hand.

“Up and att’em, Ricky Bobby,” she said, her voice heavy with a clipped British accent. “I have a surprise for you.”

Sam blearily opened his eyes, knocking the empty beer can to the floor as he sat up. He had to play it up for a couple more minutes, just enough time for his back-up to get into position.

“Wha?”

“Are you always this eloquent?” She taunted him, coming a couple steps closer. “You’re a big boy, just like George said you’d be.”

George was the name Gabriel had chosen for his undercover persona. Sam could only imagine Ricky Bobby was him. He was going to kill him when this was over.

“Who are you?”

“Bela,” she said lightly, the gun steady in her hand “Bela Talbot. There’s no point in lying to you. I’m going to kill you anyway.”

Sam tried to get up, and Bela waved her gun at him. “Sit down. I’m going to tell you a story, and then you are going to die, alright?”

Sam made a noise in his throat. “If George-”

Bela stepped closer to him. “Where are your manners? Sit. Shut up. Good boy,” she smiled at him. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Abby. Abby had a mummy and daddy, who weren’t like other mummies and daddies. Mummy stayed out all night looking to score a hit, and Daddy? Well Daddy liked to beat up on Mummy and sneak into Abby’s room at night.”

She circled around him, like a lioness stalking her prey. “”And Abby was too small and too scared to fight back. Until one day she wasn’t, and she blew Daddy’s head off,” she let out a chuckle. “And she lived happily ever after. The end.”

She cocked her gun.

Sam held up his hands. Where were Dean and Cas? “Wait,” he said, dropping the act. “I’m not who you think I am, I’m here to help, Bela.”

Bela snorted. “You help me? Like you helped George, Ricky?”

“My name is Sam Winchester,” he revealed. “I’m with the -”

“I don’t care,” she cut him off. “Who you are. Jack Conlin didn’t care. Anthony Molina didn’t care. Jane Martin didn’t -”

But Bela didn’t get to finish her list.

“Freeze, FBI! Drop your weapon!”

The SWAT team burst into the room, followed by Dean and Cas.

But all Sam saw was the flash of the gun’s muzzle, and the pallor of Dean’s face before the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	5. Sour Straws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting goes awry, and Sam is injured, though not critically. He goes back to the academy to teach while he recovers and find that Gabriel has also taken a position teaching there.

“Are you sure about this, Sammy?”

“For the last time, Dean,” Sam said, hefting his bag over his good shoulder. “I’m sure about this. Quantico is much more exciting than Kansas anyway.”

“You just got over being shot!” His brother shot back. “You don’t need any more excitement. You need rest.”

Sam laughed. “It’s just teaching, Dean!”

“It’s teaching where Bobby can easily find you, and drag you back into the fold,” Dean argued.

“It’s what I want to do,” Sam looked back at him. “Besides, he’ll find me anyway.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact Gabriel will be teaching here too?”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread over his features. He had had to tell Dean about his relationship when Gabriel refused to leave his bedside while he was in the hospital. He had to give him credit though, Dean hadn’t freaked out as much as Sam was expecting.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Sam sighed, starting towards the steps of his office. “Text me when you get to Alaska?”

Dean grumbled and retreated back to his car, and Sam headed up the stairs towards his office.

He was lucky that Bobby still had pull at the Academy. A simple favor got him a coveted corner office with big windows and a great view of the campus. It was much nicer than the closet he’d shared with the Criminal Process professor last semester.

He’d have to ask someone to take the rest of his things upstairs later, he couldn’t lift anything heavier than his laptop bag, his shoulder still healing from the shot he took.

Sam didn’t remember anything after being shot. He woke up in a hospital room, Gabriel and Dean arguing over who got the chair at his bedside. He was lucky. Even though Bela had shot him, the Kevlar vest protected him from a lethal wound, resulting instead in three broken ribs and heavy bruising.

Dean had tried to convince him to go back to Kansas, to the field office near Ellen, but Sam had been insistent on returning to his position at Quantico, and it may, just a little bit even though he’d never admit it to Dean, have had something to do with the fact Gabriel had also taken a position teaching there.

He pushed open the door of his office to find the very man he was thinking of waiting for him, spinning around in his plush leather chair.

“So Professor,” Gabriel said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively at Sam. “You give extra credit?”

Sam laughed, and dropped his bag onto his desk. “Don’t you have your own office?”

“It’s not as nice as this one,” Gabriel admitted. “Who’d you have to blow to get a corner office?”

Sam rolled his eyes and shrugged off his coat, tossing it on the couch. “All you gotta do is get shot.”

Gabriel spun around again. “So got any plans tonight?”

“Just catching up on Game of Thrones, why?”

“I might be having a little housewarming party at my new place tonight,” Gabriel got up from the chair. “If you wanted to come.”

“What time?” Sam asked him, moving to pull him in for a kiss. “Should I bring wine?”

Gabriel rose up on his tiptoes. “7:30,” he nibbled at Sam’s lower lip. “Red wine.”

“I think I can handle that,” Sam responded.

“We’ll see, Sammich,”

~~~~

Sam was surprisingly nervous as he walked up the steps to Gabriel’s apartment. He knew he shouldn't be, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t already gone out on dates, or slept together, hell Gabriel sat at his hospital bedside for two days, but this would be the first time they’d been in front of a crowd.

He rapped on the door with his knuckles, fidgeting with his collar.

Gabriel answered the door a couple second later, dingy apron tied around his neck. He was wearing a maroon collared shirt, and dark jeans. “Hey kiddo, C’mon in.”

Sam stepped inside after him, expecting to see at least one or two other people, but there was no one, just him and Gabriel and the smell of garlic permeating the air.

“Am I early?” Sam asked, handing Gabriel the bottle of red wine he’d picked out. He’d even called Ellen for help with it, seeing as he knew nothing about wine.

Gabriel grinned as he inspected the bottle. “No, you’re right on time.” He led Sam back into the kitchen.

Sam was immediately engulfed in delicious smells; garlic bread, tomato sauce, red onions for a salad, wafting from the table. He took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had a home cooked meal.

“So when are the others getting here?”

Gabriel ran a hand through his damp hair, grinning sheepishly. “I may not have been entirely truthful when I said party.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smile that curled on his lips. “You could have just invited me over for dinner, Gabe. I was all nervous for nothing.”

“You were nervous?”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “Meeting your friends for the first time?”

“Well, It’s just me,” Gabriel took a corkscrew out of a drawer. “I hope that’s okay.”

Sam opened a cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses. They didn’t match. “That’s perfect actually,” he held out the glasses, watching Gabriel open the bottle. “You cooked all of this for me?”

Gabriel filled both glasses, and set the bottle down on the table. Sam followed him, sitting down in the chair against the wall.

“How else am I supposed to convince you to be my boyfriend?”

Sam wanted to kiss him right then and there, but he settled for a big goofy instead. “I suppose this is good enough.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Gabriel’s grin mirrored his own. “Now eat!”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He piled his plate with spaghetti, salad and a large chunk of garlic bread and settled in.

He had cleaned half his plate before he said a word.

“This is really good,” he groaned, pausing to take a long drink of his wine.

Gabriel watched him with amusement. “Jesus, kid, when was the last time someone fed you?”

“It’s been a long time since anyone has cooked for me,” Sam admitted. “My foster mother is a hell of a woman, but not a very good cook,”

Gabriel sopped up the remaining sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. “So what you’re saying is the bar isn’t set very high.”

Sam just grinned and finished his pasta.

After he helped Gabriel clean up, Gabriel gave him a tour of his apartment. “It’s not much,” Gabriel said, as they passed another pile of boxes, and a keyboard.

“You play?” Sam asked, pointing at it.

“Yeah, a little,” Gabriel blushed, sitting down on the bench. “I always liked music, used to play a lot more when I was younger, but with all the moving, I don’t have time anymore.”

Sam sat down on the bench next to him. “Show me,”

“You don’t want to hear my garbage,”

“Yes, I do,” Sam smirked at him. “Show me what those talented fingers can do.”

Gabriel bit his lip and put his hands on the keys, pressing experimentally before growing in strength and confidence.

Sam closed his eyes and enjoyed the music, allowed his heart to swell with the music, until finally he thought it would burst.

He got up off the bench. “Care to dance?”

Gabriel stopped playing. “With no music?”

Sam pulled Gabriel up, and against his body, twirling him around. Gabriel giggled against his chest, hands snaking around his waist. Sam hummed off-key, taking one of Gabriel’s hands and spinning him, dipping him almost to the ground and kissing his nose.

Gabriel used the opportunity to kiss him deep, his free hand tangled in Sam’s hair.

Sam righted him, placing him back on his feet. Gabriel didn’t let go. The hand that had been holding Sam’s slipped under his shirt, ghosting over his abs. Sam nipped at his lips and in one motion, picked Gabriel up and carried him down the hall to his bedroom.

Gabriel squawked when Sam dropped him on his bed, and pulled him down by his shirt collar. Sam responded by kissing him hungrily, devouring him until they were both breathless and panting.

Gabriel’s hands scrambled down his chest, undoing his buttons and then yanking his shirt off. “Naked, now,” Gabriel demanded between kisses, fingers looping into the waistband of Sam’s jeans.

“What’s the rush?” Sam teased, pulling off Gabriel’s shirt in slow, deliberate movements.

Gabriel just growled at him.

Sam laughed, kissing down his neck, pausing to mouth at his pulse point. Under him, Gabriel keened, his nimble fingers making quick work of Sam’s zipper. He had Sam down to his boxers before he knew it.

He climbed off the bed to leave his pants on the floor, tugging his boxers to follow. Meanwhile Gabriel was wiggling out of his own jeans, tongue between his teeth.

Sam pulled them off by the hems, and dropped them to the floor with his own, looking at the other man with hungry eyes.

This had consumed his thoughts since the last time, and he couldn’t count the times he’d gotten off thinking about it.

He crawled up the bed, pinning Gabriel under him, and rolling his hips against his.

Gabriel bucked up gracelessly, hissing at the contact. “Sam, please,”

“I’ve been preparing for this,” Sam whispered in Gabriel’s ear, biting down on the lobe.

“Oh fuck,” Gabriel groaned. “Fuck fuck. You did not just say that to me.”

“Where is the-”

“Bedside table,” Gabriel responded, looking at Sam like he hung the moon. “Fuck.”

Sam pulled the drawer open roughly, feeling the cold tube under his hot fingers. He pulled it out and flipped the cap, squeezing some onto his hand.

Gabriel’s were glued to him as he slicked him up, feeling the smooth skin on his palms.

Sam went to push more out, to prepare himself, but Gabriel took the bottle.

“Let me.”

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, letting Gabriel have it, watching as he coated his fingers in the slippery liquid.

He drew a ragged breath as Gabriel pushed a finger, cold and hard, inside him. Gabriel’s fingers weren’t long, but they did the job, as he slipped another in.

His head was swimming as Gabriel stretched him, spreading his fingers wide inside him, adding to the work Sam had already done on his own, with this very thing in mind.

Gabriel watched him like a hawk again, pressing another finger inside him, pistoning in and out.

He couldn’t take it and he whined. “Gabriel,” he panted. “Please.”

“Your wish is my command, Sambo,” Gabriel replied, his voice low and rough as he lined himself up. “Tell me if it hurts, or if you want to stop. I’ll stop.”

Sam nodded, wanting to Gabriel to get on with it already. He wasn’t made of glass, he wouldn’t break, but the fact that Gabriel treated him like he was something to protect, made warm feelings blossom in his belly.

Slowly and carefully, Gabriel slid forward, the blunt head of his cock breaching Sam’s entrance, and Sam stiffened at the intrusion.

He took a deep breath, and tried to relax as Gabriel gently thrust inside of him.

“Oh God,” Gabriel practically whimpered in his ear, “You feel so good,”

It wasn’t until Gabriel was fully seated inside him, that he could breathe again. He felt full, but not uncomfortably so. It actually felt good, with Gabriel as close as he could physically be.

Gabriel picked up his pace, pulling back and burying himself over and over again. Sam gasped as he hit his prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure flooding over his body.

He roughly tugged on Sam’s swollen cock, whispering praise in his ear as he filled him.

“Gorgeous...perfect,” Gabriel moaned. “So damn perfect,”

Sam couldn’t do much more than writhe under him, overcome with the sensation of Gabriel around him, inside him.

It didn’t take long to have Sam spilling over Gabriel’s fist with a cry, clenching tight around the man inside of him. With a couple more thrusts, Gabriel came apart, biting down on the meat of his shoulder.

Sam couldn’t breathe for a second, the afterglow of his orgasm hitting him with full force.

By the time he got himself under control, Gabriel had slipped out and laid down next to him with his head pillowed on Sam’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel blurted out. “I usually last-”

Sam kissed him. “Quiet” he laughed. “You’re ruining it,”

Gabriel glared daggers at him, but didn’t say another word.

“Good thing you’ll have the rest of forever to make it better,” he added.

Gabriel’s laughter was confirmation enough.

~~~~~

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Siralop/media/BB%202.jpg.html)

Three months, Sam thought, looking over at Gabriel bathed in the early morning light. Three months since he’d moved in with Gabriel, and he hadn’t heard from Bobby other than small talk since Bela Talbot.

Three months of peace and solitude, with nothing more to worry about than getting his grades in on time and if they had enough milk.

He’d been a little scared when Gabriel suggested it. It seemed too soon to be taking such a big step but Sam had never regretted it.

Before Gabriel, he’d always thought love was the rush of butterflies in your stomach and the heated feeling you got when they kissed you. Now, it was the calm that washed over him when he came home and found Gabriel singing in their small kitchen, and the overwhelming sense of wellbeing he felt when they were cuddled up in bed with their dog, Arthur.

“Stop thinking so loud,”

Gabriel was regarding him with a smile, eyes still full of sleep.

“Sorry.” Sam smiled sheepishly at him. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,”

“Mmmmm” Gabriel grumbled, dragging Sam closer to him and burying his face in his shoulder. “You have another nightmare, baby?”

Sam shook his head. He’d had one nightmare in the time they’d been together. He’d woken up shaky and sweating, having just crushed Ellen’s throat in his hands, and Gabriel talked him through it and held him until he fell asleep. He hadn’t had one since.

“I was thinking, that’s all,”

Gabriel slipped his arms round Sam’s waist. “About what?”

“Our job. What we do,” Sam said finally, burying his nose in Gabriel’s hair. It smelled of the apple shampoo he liked.

“Teaching?” Gabriel asked.

“No, what we really do. Catching killers. Risking our lives,” Sam corrected. “Have you ever thought about leaving?

Gabriel turned his face towards him. “Leaving the Bureau?”

Sam nodded. “Leaving it all together. No field work, no teaching, no nothing,” he reiterated. “Getting out free and clear.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Gabriel admitted. “This is about Bela, isn’t it?”

Sam sighed. “I know she killed people, but they were scumbags. Is it really such a big loss?”

Gabriel propped himself up on one elbow. “I don't think so,” he responded. “They kind of got what was coming to them.”

Sam regarded him for a moment, eyes roaming over the face he loved. “I agree with that. What kind of agent does that make me?”

“A good one,” Gabriel replied, hugging him closer. “You did your job, Sammich, regardless of your personal feelings about it,”

Sam felt lighter. “I guess you’re right,” he said, rubbing Gabriel’s back.

“Of course, I’m right. I’m always right,” he chortled. “Now get some sleep.”

Sam did as he was told, closing his eyes, his mind feeling clearer than it had been in days.

It didn’t last.

The phone rang at four a.m., Bobby flashing on the caller ID, and Sam knew they had another one.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	6. Molasses Chew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer, dubbed the Devil of Detroit, is unlike another killer they’ve ever known. He uses cyphers to taunt them and leave behind almost no forensic evidence. Sam and the team are stumped and frustrated as they wait for him to kill again.

Sam did not like Detroit. He wasn't a big fan of cities as a general rule, but this one made his skin crawl. 

He hated the rundown buildings, the garbage and smell, everything about it turned him off, but he was here to do a job so he squared his shoulders and soldiered on.

The plane ride from Virginia had been more pleasant than last time, but he owed that to the company. Gabriel had received a call not long after Bobby called him, requesting his services. 

They arrived at the crime scene without checking into their rooms, and left their suitcases in the car, as they walked towards the derelict apartment building as they'd been instructed. Bobby, Cas and Dean were waiting for them.

“It's not pretty in there,” Dean informed them, arms crossed over his chest. Even he looked a little green.

“They rarely are,” Sam quipped back, putting his forensics case down on the sidewalk.

“So why the 911 guys?” Gabriel asked. His own pack was slung across his chest. 

“Bones are your specialty,” Bobby said solemnly. “And there's more than one body, we think.”

“You think?” Gabriel regarded them skeptically.

“Just take a look,” Bobby instructed, turning back towards his own car. “Idjit.”

Gabriel started taking his customary outfit out of his pack: scrubs, gloves, shoe covers, and suited up right there in the doorway.

Sam donned gloves and shoe covers, and followed him inside.

He could smell the scene before he could see it and that was never a good sign.

The apartment door had been busted open with a battering ram and laid splintered in the hallway. 

The gore started as soon as they breached the threshold.

There was blood everywhere, and not just the fresher stuff either. Sam could see the old blood saturating the floorboards, darkening the wood until it was almost black.

There was blood on the wall too, great gouts indicative of arterial spray.

Apart from it, was one stark symbol in blood.

 

The forensics team milled around him, taking pictures of everything, evidence plaques marking the larger puddles.

The apartment was almost completely empty except for a dirty bare mattress in the bedroom and a table and chair set in the kitchen.

The fresh body was lying on the mattress, bloated and maggoty, the local medical examiner leaning over it, breathing through his mouth. She had been cut from ear to ear, which explained the amount of tacky blood on the floors and walls.

As Sam turned to examine the second bedroom, he could see why Gabriel had been called. 

The other room was full of bones. 

Gabriel went straight to work, pulling his small tape recorder from his pack and talking into it.

“Dr. Gabriel Novak, 936 hours, Detroit, Michigan, 102 Elm Street…”

His voice petered out as Sam moved back to the living room, staring at the writing on the walls. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. His eyes were glued to the symbols, and they were etched on the back of his eyelids as he dove into his killspace full force, hanging on as the laughter took him.

The blood felt warm on the killer’s fingers as he drew the symbol, dripping where he'd put too much.

The world had to know, they had to be shown what was coming.

There was urgency behind his strokes, and he drew furiously, laying down the law while the body of his latest kill cooled in the bedroom. It had to be done. He would not let him go to waste, he would use him as he had used the others.

For his Master.

Sam blinked. Garth was taking pictures of the writing on the wall.

“Can I get a copy of that once you upload them?” He asked.

Garth nodded. “I’m already sending a copy to the cryptography department, one for Sam, coming right up!”

“Thanks, Garth,” Sam said, walking towards the back bedroom.

Gabriel had started bagging the bones to take back to the lab, and there was a puzzled look on his face when Sam entered.

“What is it?”

“Bobby wasn’t kidding when he said more than one body,” Gabriel looked over at him. “I’ve got three skulls, but seven femurs,”

“Three heads and seven legs, so here’s at least another body, bringing our count up to five bodies,” Sam calculated.

“There may be more,” Gabriel responded. “I’ll know more when I tally everything up at the lab. Any clue on that weird chicken scratch on the wall?”

Sam shook his head. “None at all yet. He’s trying to tell the world something, something he thinks is so important he has to write it in blood.”

“Another crazy guy?” Gabriel asked, zipping up the last body bag, and motioning for the junior medical examiner to take it away. 

“Not exactly,” Sam explained. “He might be mentally ill, but he knows what he’s doing. He can tell the difference between right and wrong, that’s why his message is hidden here, instead of in a more public area.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Gabriel replied, grabbing his case. “I’m going back to the lab. Meet you later?”

Sam wanted to kiss him, but they’d agreed not to when they were at work. It only made things messy. “I’ll be over there after I finish up here. I expect a full body count by then.”

Gabriel faux-saluted him. “Aye aye, mon capitaine.” He said, and marched out of the apartment.

Sam stifled a laugh and turned back to the apartment.

“What was that all about?” Dean came up behind him.

“Don’t ask,” Sam replied ominously.

“Is it a sex thing?” Dean continued. “Please tell me it’s not a sex thing.”

Sam gave him a flat look. “Can we talk about the case, please?” He was not talking to Dean about his sex life...ever.

“So what are you thinking?” Dean asked. “ Caucasian male unsub, around his mid-thirties?”

Looking over the crime scene again, Sam nodded. “Sounds about right. A loner, minor problems with the law in the past, nothing major, disorderly conduct, public urination. Nothing sexual or overtly violent.”

Dean nodded. “We can draw up the profile when we get back. Grab Cas and let’s knock on some doors.”

~~~

Three hours of canvassing the neighborhood had Sam feeling like he wanted to beat his head against a wall. The amount of work they had just done was not worth the information they’d uncovered. 

Some of the neighbors just shut the door in their faces. What they’d gathered from the rest only confirmed their profile; thirty-something white male with blondish hair, around 6 feet tall, a loner. No one had ever spoken to him, not even in a friendly neighborly hello, and he didn’t have people over.

The landlord told them the apartment was paid in cash on a month to month basis. The current occupant, listed only as a John Smith, paid on time, a plain envelope shoved under his door, and had been living there around four months.

Diddly squat.

After a quick lunch at the local McDonalds, they retreated to the comfort of the local Medical Examiner's office, hoping that Gabriel had something helpful.

This office, Sam noted, was a complete step down from the last ME’s office he’d stepped foot in back is Massachusetts. The ancient linoleum tile was peeling and cracked, the walls were dingy, even the ceiling had a cloudy film covering it.

The harried receptionist pointed them down the dark hallway to the last autopsy room, and Sam could hear Gabriel’s normal music blaring through the speakers.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Gabriel had the small room stuffed with gurneys, each bearing an assortment of bones. Sam counted five.

“So what have we got, Doc?” Dean shouted over the music.

Gabriel turned it down. “Hey Sammy, Dean-o,” he said, taking his mask off. “So about the count of five...There are six.”

“So counting Jane Doe at the scene,” Cas started. “That’s seven victims, all women,”

“All Caucasian women,” Gabriel added. “Between the ages of 20-35 years.”

Sam nodded. Serial killers often hunted within their own racial group, nothing off the grid there.

Gabriel continued. “The only clue I have as to cause of death is notches on the C3 and C4 vertebrae, which points to them having their throats slit so deeply they were almost beheaded.”

“That fits with what we saw at the crime scene, and his previous victims, with the exception of the first,” Dean said, looking up from the case file. “His first victim he strangled first, then cut her throat. That brings his total victims to eleven,”

“You guys have nothing to go on?” Gabriel asked, leaning on a gurney. 

“Nothing but the symbol on the wall,” Sam put in. “Garth already forwarded it to cryptography.” 

“I'll do dental scans on the skulls we have and try to look for other identifying marks on the bones, but without the head, there's not a lot I can do,” Gabriel replied. 

Dean and Cas retreated to the car, but Sam lagged behind.

“You okay, kiddo?” Gabriel asked, pulling his hand out of his glove to lay it on Sam’s cheek. “You don't look so good.”

“I just got a bad feeling, that's all,” Sam closed his eyes, and savored the warmth of Gabriel’s hand. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Gabriel reassured him. “You always do.”  
Sam looked at the bones in the table, and thought of the Candy Man. “Not always.” 

“You will,” Gabriel affirmed. “I'll see you at the hotel?” 

“I'll be back late,” Sam warned him.

“I love you, Sam.”

“Love you, too.”

There were a couple more hours of work to be done and Sam was bone-tired by the time he got back to the hotel.

The lights were off when he opened the door to his room, and he flipped on the bathroom light to get ready for bed and avoid waking his boyfriend. He stripped down to his boxers, too tired to take a full shower, and scrubbed the grime of the day off his face. After he brushed his teeth, he flipped off the light and tiptoed into bed.

“Sam?”

Sam cursed himself as he pulled Gabriel into his embrace. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “Did I wake you?”

Gabriel rolled over, so he was facing Sam. “ ‘m not sleeping,” he mumbled. “Was waiting for you.”  
Sam smiled and pressed a kiss into his hair. “Sure you were.”

“Find anything interesting?” Gabriel pressed his nose into Sam’s neck.

“Nothing,” Sam sighed, rubbing Gabriel’s back. “The cryptographer promised to call me when he found something.”

“Good,” Gabriel wiggled as he got comfortable, and Sam melted against him. It almost felt like home. “Now sleep.”

“Yes, mom,” Sam laughed, his arms wrapped around him, and his legs tangled around his.

He had no trouble falling asleep.

~~~~

Sam was ready to leave a week later, when the evidence yielded no further leads. They’d canvassed the neighborhood twice, but no one budged. Forensics got a couple partial prints, but with nothing on record, they were basically useless.

He was packing his bag when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Winchester,” he answered. “Yes, Captain Dooley, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

He grabbed his field bag on his way out the door.

The Captain was waiting when they pulled into the police station. He called them over to his desk, and handed Sam a bagged piece of paper.

A letter.

“This arrived in the post this morning,” Dooley said. “It’s from him.”

Sam didn’t have to ask which him the Captain was talking about, because the same symbol was drawn crudely in red ink on the top right hand corner.

 

**SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL AND YOUNG, BUT NOW SHE IS BLOODY AND DEAD. SHE WAS NOT THE FIRST SACRIFICE, AND SHE WILL NOT BE THE LAST, LIKE THE OTHERS.  
THEY ALL DIED HARD, THEY FOUGHT HARD, BUT I WAS STRONGER. THEY SCREAMED UNTIL I CUT THEIR THROATS.**

**I AM NOT SICK. I LIKE TO KILL.**

**THIS LETTER SHOULD BE PUBLISHED FOR ALL TO READ, SO THAT THEY MAY KNOW WHAT IS COMING, GOING BACK TO THE START.**

**THIS IS A WARNING. I AM COMING.**

 

Goosebumps stood up on Sam’s arms as he read the missive, chills shaking his body. “Who else touched this?” He asked the captain.

“Myself, the mailroom, and the postman,” Dooley responded. “We took prints from everyone,”  
“Good,” Sam nodded, slipping the letter into his case. “We can see if his prints are on this.”

“Should we do as he says?” The captain asked. “Publish it?”

Sam debated a moment. “No, not yet,” he decided. “We’ll draw him out,”

It was a choice he’d come to regret.

The next victim appeared two days later.

The local cops found her in a park, in all her naked glory, throat cut and the sigil from the letter carved into her abdomen.

He’d gone public, and there was no way they could ignore him now. They had to address the masses. Despite his protests, Bobby asked Sam to deliver the press release, to be the public face of the investigation.

Sam hated giving speeches. His voice had a tinny quality he hated, and he sweated so badly he had to be careful not to lift his arms, but he did as Bobby asked. He put on his best suit, and his best face and went out into the spotlight.

“I’m Agent Sam Winchester,” he began, squinting into the stage lights on the steps of the Mayor’s office. There were easily a couple thousand people crowded beyond the peeling police barricade, nearly a quarter of them reporters for local and national stations. “And I’m with the FBI. As some of you may be aware, human remains were found yesterday afternoon in William G. Milliken State Park. In addition, there have been several other bodies found in the greater Detroit area. We believe these homicides to be the work of a serial killer,” there was a flurry of voices from the crowd. “ We advise Detroit residents to be on their guard. Our unidentified subject is a white male in his 30’s, with blond hair and stands about six feet tall. The citizens of Detroit are urged to call the local police with any leads. Thank you.”

The reporters fired questions at him, but Sam ignored them, as he’d been told to do, and retreated into a waiting car. His part was done, for now, and he had a boyfriend waiting for him to get to dinner.

“How did the conference go?” Gabriel asked as they sat in their booth. The waitress handed them their menus and made herself scarce.

“Fine” Sam groused. “Nothing to it, read what’s on the card, and look scary.”

“You couldn’t look scary if you tried,” Gabriel teased him. “Not with those puppy-dog eyes.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this, Gabe. I don’t like waiting for them to strike again.”

“I know you don’t babe,” Gabriel’s eyes peeked at him over the laminated plastic of the menu. “You’ve done all you can. You have to trust Bobby on this one.”

“And more likely than not, if we catch this bastard, his defense counsel will get him off on a NGRI defense and he’ll be back on the street.”

Gabriel took Sam’s hand and squeezed it. “Sammy, let’s worry about catching him first okay?”

The waitress came over and took their orders, looking over them with scared eyes. Sam realized how loud they’d been talking.

“I miss the academy,” he said, watching his tone. He missed the predictable schedule, and he missed their small apartment, and their dog.

“I miss it too, kiddo,” Gabriel smiled at him. “We’ll be back there soon enough.”

“Would it be too much to hope we kill him?” Sam groaned. “So we can go home?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and Sam’s stomach turned. Did that make him a bad person? Even though he was a killer, he was a human being and-

“Personally, I hope we do,” Gabriel agreed. “Jail is too good for this guy.”

It was Sam’s turn to stare now.

“What?” Gabriel grinned. “You said it yourself. Bastard will probably get off on an insanity plea. Better if we put a bullet between his eyes.”

“What does that make us?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know. Realists? We see some awful shit, Sam,” he replied. “Murders, rapes, pure evil. The way I see it, there are two types of evil.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “How do you figure?”

“There’s just plain evil, like this guy, and then there’s evil that serves a purpose,” Gabriel leaned forward. “Like Bela. Bela committed acts of evil. Sure, she shot and killed people, but her evil served a purpose. Her victims were abusers, scumbags, dregs of society. But this guy, well he kills because he likes it.”

Sam nodded. He understood what Gabriel was getting at. It explained his mixed feelings on Bela, and some of the other killers they’d captured over the years. Sure, killing in itself was an evil act in the eyes of the public at large, but was it really evil to use evil to stop evil?

He was about to respond, but the waitress returned with their food; a salad for him and a deluxe ice cream sundae for Gabriel, and he was too hungry to talk anymore.

Gabriel eyed him over their dinner. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. You’ll see. We’ll get him.”

“One way or the other.” Sam picked up his fork.

Gabriel just smiled.

“One way or the other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	7. Lollipop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Devil begins to hunt Sam, taunting him that they’ll never catch him. Sam and Gabriel go back to the scene of a previous Devil murder, trying to see if they missed anything.

Three days turned into a week, and a week turned into a month while they waited for him to strike again. In the meantime, the cryptography team in Virginia identified the symbol as the sigil of Lucifer, prompting the media to dub their killer, The Devil of Detroit.

Sam had just gotten off the phone with Amelia, the neighbor they had taking care of Arthur, when his phone buzzed again.

“Winchester?” He answered, only to be greeted with Bobby's voice. “Yes. Yes Sir, I’ll be right there.”

Captain Dooley was holding another letter when they got to the police station, except this one was different.

This one was addressed to Sam.

“We didn’t want to open it without you here,” the Captain said, putting it down on the clean table that dominated the precinct line-up room.

Sam stared at it for a moment, before donning latex gloves, and slitting the flap.

Carefully, he flipped the folded paper open so it laid flat on the table, revealing the contents to his eyes.

**DEAR AGENT WINCHESTER,**

**THIS IS THE MURDERER OF THE GIRL IN THE PARK AND THE ONES IN THE ELM STREET APARTMENT.**

**I SHALL GIVE YOU DETAILS TO PROVE I KILLED THEM.**

**-7 FEMURS**  
- **3 SKULLS**  
- **THE GIRL IN THE PARK’S TOENAILS WERE PINK.**

**I’VE ENCLOSED A CYPHER FOR YOU. IT CONTAINS MY NAME.**

**I WANT IT TO BE PRINTED ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THE DETROIT HERALD, OR I WILL GO ON A KILLING SPREE.**

**I WILL GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING**

Sam had to read it twice before it sunk in. His eyes were drawn to the cypher printed in red letters on the bottom of the sheet of loose leaf, if they actually were letters. They weren’t any signs or symbols that he was familiar with.

Motioning for more evidence bags, he snapped a couple pictures of the letters with his phone, before slipping them in. Forensics could do the rest.

It wasn’t until he was in the car that he allowed himself to panic.

The last serial killer who’d taken a personal interest in him, had killed Jess. He’d lost more than his fiancé that night, he’d lost everything that made him him, his faith, his morality, his hope for a normal life.

He couldn’t breathe.

Sam clung to the steering wheel, his sweaty forehead against the worn leather. His throat felt swollen and he gasped, and choked as he tried to get air into his lungs.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock on the window. He looked up into Gabriel’s face, his normal smile replaced with a look of worry.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam opened the door. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Gabriel cupped his cheek in his palm. Sam flinched, and a look of hurt flashed over Gabriel’s eyes. “Something is not fine.” 

Sam sighed. He had always meant to tell Gabriel about Jess, but not this soon, and not with the threat of murder hanging over their heads.

“The -the,” Sam stuttered, and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at his own vulnerability. “Jesus Christ, the last time I was singled out like this… the last time a serial killer took notice of me, he killed the person I loved the most in this world, my fiancé Jess.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything, he just listened. Sam was grateful.

“I won’t have that be you.”

Gabriel closed the space between them, pressing his forehead against Sam’s. “It won’t, kiddo,” he whispered. “I’m in good hands.”

“You should leave,” Sam suggested. “Go home. I’m sure Arthur would be excited to see you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam,” Gabriel pulled back, and looked full into his face. “I’m just as much a part of this as you are. The bureau needs me. Besides who’s supposed to look after your big dumb ass?”

Sam tried to suppress a smile and couldn’t. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “But I’m not taking any chances. Separate rooms, separate everything. As far as the world knows, we’re just part of the same team. I won’t lose you.”

Gabriel took a step back, and crossed his arms. “You got it, Sammy.”

~~~

There were no murders in the next month the team spent in Detroit, but plenty of letters, each one more boastful than the last. Their unsub was clearly enjoying the attention.

They’d done as he asked and posted the cypher in the paper. But no one, not even the FBI’s best, could decipher the code. 

They screened thousands of anonymous tips, covered miles of beats, combed over the evidence again and again, but nothing led them to their man.

Sam poured over the letters, hoping beyond hope, that he’d left them a clue. He recited the words in his dreams, and the nightmares had come back with a vengeance.

So he stopped sleeping.

Without Gabriel to keep the nightmares at bay, he didn’t bother lying down anymore. He’d just go until he dropped out of sheer exhaustion, often to be ripped from sleep after only a few hours.

He missed Gabriel’s physical presence like he would miss a part of his own body. Sure, he was there, laughing with Cas and Dean in meetings, pouring over bones, making sure Sam ate, but he couldn’t touch him, or hold him, or kiss him the way he wanted to.

It was almost worse than missing the sleep.

Sam spent his days chasing down leads, and his nights chasing the devil through the world of his letter and cyphers.

A knock echoed in his room, and it took him a minute to realize where the sound was coming from. Someone was knocking on his door.

He stumbled over to answer it.

Gabriel was standing there, carrying grease spotted paper bags and two coffees in a tray.

“You look like shit.”

Sam smiled at him and let him in. “I feel like shit,” he admitted, as he followed Gabriel to his table.

“You can’t keep this up, Sam,” Gabriel said, putting the food down on the table. “You're going to kill yourself.”

Sam opened his cup of coffee, and took a deep whiff. It definitely wasn’t the sludge they served downstairs. It smelled like liquefied heaven.

“I have to catch him, Gabriel,” he settled back in his chair, taking small sips of coffee.

“Why does it have to be you?” Gabriel snapped. “There are hundreds of other agents who could work themselves into an early grave.”

Sam looked up at his boyfriend, and noticed for the first time, that the bags under Gabriel’s eyes were nearly as bad as his own. He put the coffee down on the table, and cupped his cheek in his palm.

Gabriel rubbed against his hand like a cat. “We could leave,” he whispered against his wrist. “Go back home, go back to the beginning, without all of this. Please.”

Sam froze. Where had he heard that before? He rolled it over again in his brain, and once more, letting it percolate in his hazy subconscious.

The lightbulb went on.

Suddenly he was knocking the coffee on the carpet, grabbing frantically at the letters he’d spent weeks pouring over.

The second letter... the first one… Back to the beginning… back to the start.

It had been right there staring him in the face for all these weeks, mocking him in its simplicity.

“That’s it!” Sam scrambled for his bag and his gun, groping for his coat as he ran across the room.

“What?” Gabriel looked startled. “What’s it? Where are you going?”

“To the beginning,” Sam huffed, yanking his keys out of his pocket. “In every single letter, there’s a reference to beginning or the start. At first I thought he saying he would go back to strangling his victims, like his first. He’s referring to the place. He’s going back to the spot where the first body was found.”

“Shouldn’t we call someone?” Gabriel got up, taking his coffee with him. “Like I don’t know, the rest of the team? Back-up? 911?”

“No time,” Sam said, shrugging into his coat. “He’s been waiting. This is my chance, Gabriel. To catch him.”

“You’re not going alone,” Gabriel called after him as he hurried out of the room and down the hall to the lobby.

“It’s too dangerous for you,” Sam half-sprinted to his rental. He unlocked his car, and slipped behind the wheel.

Defiantly, Gabriel yanked the passenger side door open and scrambled in. “It’s just as dangerous for you!” He pointed out. “You need back-up.”

Sam glared at him. “Out, Gabe, now,” he commanded, starting the car.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Gabriel, get out of the car. I don’t have time for this!” Sam snapped.

“Then go,” Gabriel crossed his arms like a petulant child. “You aren’t going without me.”  
“Fine!” Sam slammed the car in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, tires burning rubber on the hot pavement.

They drove from Midtown, through Downtown and into the Jefferson Corridor. It didn’t take Sam all that long to get to the site where the first body was discovered, just off the hiking trail in Palmer Park.

He parked the car, and took an extra magazine out of his bag and shoving it into his pocket. The clip in his gun was full. He hoped he didn’t have to use it.

“This is the plan,” he said, putting the gun into the holster under his jacket. ‘I’ll go out and search. You stay in the car,” he reached for the door handle.

Gabriel pressed down the lock button. “And what? I sit here and wait for this maniac to hunt and kill you? I don’t think so! I’m coming with you.”

“You’re staying right here!”

Gabriel held the button down. “Let’s get one thing straight. You aren’t leaving me here. I love you, Sam Winchester, and I’m going with you.”

It took Sam a moment to process, and he surged forward to kiss him quickly.

“”Fine,” he finally gave in. “You know how to handle a gun?”

Gabriel snorted. “Sweetheart, I grew up in Tennessee, you’re darn tootin’ I know my way around a gun.’”

It only took another couple minutes for Sam to retrieve his extra piece from the trunk and fit Gabriel with the pancake holster, snug against his ribs.

Sam didn’t want to have to use force, if that was at all possible.

They left the car in the lot, hiking up the winding trail to the place where the first victim had been discovered.

Her name was Lilith Addams, twenty four years old, a runaway and part time stripper. She was the first in a long line of the Devil’s victims, and she was different, not only because she was the first, but because of the way she died.

The Devil had slit the throat of all the other girls, but not Lilith. She had the honor of looking into his eyes as he squeezed the life from her body, and because of that, she was afforded a place of reverence among the scores of girls who'd be forced to bleed for him.

The place he’d dumped her body was far enough away that it wouldn’t be discovered by accident, but close enough that it had been a quick get-away. Sam could still see the ragged, weathered strips of police tape that had marked of the area.

There was no one there.

He had been so sure, willing to stake his life on the fact the killer would be here, but once again he’d been wrong. He’d read the signs wrong.

Between the lack of sleep and surfeit of stress and nightmares, Sam felt like he wanted to cry. He had given his all to this case, his sanity, the love of his boyfriend, the -

“That was an inspired performance, gentleman.”

Sam flipped around to see a man clapping. He was blond, around six feet tall, with a clever, smirking mouth and expressive eyes.

“Honestly, Samuel,” he said. “Took you long enough. Thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“You’re the Devil.”

“Uh no duh,” the blond laughed. “Did you really think some random guy would be showing up?”

“I’m here to arrest you,” Sam regained some of his senses. “You’re coming with me.”

“Am I, Sam?” The man taunted back. “Really?”

“Who are you?” Sam asked, pulling his gun from the holster and holding it level.

“Why don’t you ask your friend there?” He sneered. “Or should I say lover? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Sam’s eyes slid to Gabriel, who was holding his gun shakily, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “What does he mean, Gabe?”

“Ooo cute nicknames are my favorite,” the blond man crowed, grinning widely.

“Shut up!” Gabriel snapped at him. “Just arrest him, Sam,”

“Gabriel, what is he talking about? Tell me,” Sam asked again, keeping his eyes on the Devil..

“Yeah, tell him Dr. Novak,”

“Dr. Novak? Gabriel, what’s going on? Do you know him?” Sam felt sick.

“Sam, you have to listen to me. I didn’t-” Gabriel sputtered, and Sam’s heart dropped even farther into his stomach.

“I’ll ask you again,” Sam tried to keep the shake out of his voice. “Who is he?’

Gabriel took a defeated breath, and looked at the ground. “He’s my half-brother, Lucifer Shurley.”

Lucifer’s face wrinkled up in a look of mock hurt. “Oh Gabriel, you wound me. We’re much more than just brothers. Soulmates I’d ventured, same interests, same… hobbies…” he flashed a grin. “Although your taste for candy has always been larger than mine…”

Sam froze, his heart beating as if it would pound out of his chest any second. Candy?

Suddenly, the parts clicked together in his head...the seemingly random locations of the murders... the scene in Indiana… the color of the candy wrappers… Bobby had thought the Candy Man had laid it out to impress someone...someone he’d just met… and he had. He had laid it out for…

“You!” He rounded on Gabriel, aiming the gun at his chest. “You’re the Candy Man!”

“Sam, listen to me-”

“You lied to me!” Sam yelled. “You used me!”

“I never lied to you, Sammy,” Gabriel didn’t move his gun from Lucifer. “I swear. Everything I’ve told you was true. Lucifer and I… we share a father, and he was a deadbeat, just like I told you. My mom was an abusive alcoholic, and I was raised by my half- brother Raphael. Please, Sam. I wasn’t lying about loving you,”

“You’re a killer,” Sam spat.

“I can’t help what I am,” Gabriel protested, his eye flicking between the two men. “I don’t enjoy it, not like him. I pick the ones who deserve it, the ones who slip through the cracks. I don’t touch the ones the law takes care of.”

Sam shook his head. “If it were just about that, there wouldn’t be a need for the theatrics.”

“You got me, kiddo,” Gabriel almost smiled. “I want them to know, the other scumbags, that even if the law doesn’t get them, I will. The best way to get my message across is to put on a show. The cut and dry murders don’t make the papers, Sam."

As much as Sam didn’t want to admit it, Gabriel did have a point. Only the sensational stuff made the news, and the Candy Man was nothing if not sensational.

“As much as I love a good soap opera, can we get on with this please?” Lucifer whined.

Sam turned his gun back on the Devil, but still keeping an eye on Gabriel. “You’re still coming with me,” he said.

“And won’t that be fun?” Lucifer smirked. “I’m sure all the psychologists would love to hear about my serial killer brother.”

“I don’t care,” Gabriel snarled back at his brother. “Sam, take me in too, you have to get him off the streets.”

“Off the streets, into a psychiatric hospital, and then back out again, just like with Grammy,” Lucifer sang, “Just like last time.”

“He’s not wrong, Sam,” Gabriel added. “He killed his grandmother at 12 years, got out and got his records sealed. He’ll be out on the -”

“Shut up, both of you!” Sam yelled. He was tired of the circles they were talking around him, like he wasn’t even there, each manipulating him in his own way.

The way he figured, he had four choices really. Take Lucifer and Gabriel in together and risk Lucifer getting out on an NGRI plea, take Lucifer in and have him out Gabriel anyway, let them both go or kill Lucifer.

He didn’t know when the last one had become a valid option to him.

He thought back to their conversation about Bela, about the nature of evil. Gabriel was a killer, plain and simple, but the people he killed weren't exactly model citizens, rapists, pedophiles, murderers, who didn’t care about the people they hurt. He had always thought they’d gotten what they deserved, but what about Gabriel? Didn’t he deserve to pay for the lives he had taken?

He remembered Gabriel as he knew him, the sound of his soft snores beside him in bed at night, the breathless giggle he made when Sam kissed his collarbone, and the smell of his apple shampoo. Could the man he’d fallen in love with be the same man who had killed four people?

“While I’m sure you're wrestling your demons right now,” Lucifer cut in. “But can we get a move on? I kind of have a date tonight.”

The thought of Lucifer out, free among the public, spurred Sam to action.

He pulled the trigger. Twice.

Lucifer went down with a grin on his face, red blossoming over the green of his shirt. The familiar laugher bloomed to life inside him, changing and warping as he watched him die, knowing he had done it. It coated him on the inside like a shadow, and as he turned to face Gabriel, he heard a dark chuckle.

Gabriel lowered his weapon “Sam, I-”

“Not another word, Gabriel,” Sam leveled the gun at his lover. “Go. I don’t want to see you here again. It'll be a few days before I get home. Make sure you’re out by then.”

Gabriel’s face fell, but he nodded. He slipped the gun Sam had lent him into the holster and threw it on the ground between them.

“This is your pass,” Sam added. “One more murder, and that’s it. I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

Gabriel nodded again, and backed away with his hands up before disappearing into the woods.

He took Sam’s heart with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	8. Cough Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam debates telling his team about Gabriel. Even though he knows what he is, he still has feelings for him. Another Killer, The Hand of God comes on the scene. He’s the most prolific killer they’ve come across yet and they aren’t at all close to catching him.

No one questioned him when Sam asked for leave. He’d just killed a man, after all, even if it was in self-defense.

Sam couldn’t face going home. He dawdled in Detroit as long as he could, and then took a long weekend trip to see Ellen, but eventually he had to go back. 

There was the small matter of his things, not to mention poor Arthur, who’d been staying with their neighbor all the time.

Finally, he couldn't put it off any longer.

He strapped his holster under his jacket, nervous about what he would find inside.

It was nothing like he expected.

The apartment was spotless, not even a picture frame or sock out of place, and all Gabriel’s things were gone. His clothing out of the dresser and the closet, his books and comics out of the shelf, not even his food was in the fridge.

It didn’t even smell like him anymore. It was as if he'd never been there.

Sam sighed, half in relief, half in sadness as he went to retrieve Arthur from Amelia.

She smiled when she opened the door and saw him. “You're finally back. I saw Gabriel a while ago, he dropped by to give me some money, but then I saw the boxes…”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, we… uhh... broke up,”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amelia said, stepping back into her apartment. “Arthur!” She called. “Daddy’s home.”

Sam couldn't help but grin when the little dog slid across the tile floor and jumped into his arms, barking happily.

He rubbed the dog’s head. “I missed you too boy.”

“If you need any help, or ever want to have a cup of coffee,” Amelia offered. “You know where to find me.”

Sam smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I do. Thank you.”

The apartment felt empty without Gabriel in it, without his laughter, and Sam hated it. He made the choice right then and there to break the lease and get his own place.

He wandered through it, relearning his home, until he finally gave up and laid down on the bed.

The sheets were rough and stiff, like they were new and when he leaned back onto his mattress, he knew it wasn’t the one he’d left. Gabriel hadn’t even left Sam his smell on their sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't reconcile the Gabriel he knew to the Gabriel the Candy Man he admitted to being.Sam wondered how much of what Gabriel told him was a lie.

_‘I never lied about loving you.’_

Sam had taught classes all over the country on sociopathy, about the lack of empathy, which led many to believe sociopaths didn't feel love. They didn't feel emotions like normal people, and he vaguely questioned if he was one of them. The thing inside him laughed at the thought.

He didn't feel guilty, or ashamed, or sickened, the things that most people would feel ending a human life.

On the contrary, he felt…amazing, more alive than he'd felt in his entire life. 

His nightmares had morphed into fantasies, and Gabriel starred heavily in them, like a fallen angel on his shoulder, urging vengeance on those who had committed wrongs. 

He no longer awoke in terror that he'd killed someone, but rather hoping he had.

It was sick, and he couldn't tell anyone.

More than anything, as the days melted into weeks, he wanted to tell Gabriel, to ask him how he'd felt making his first kill, if he'd felt this exhilarated. He wanted to tell him about the laughter.

At first, he'd chalked this new development into shock and then post-traumatic stress, but when it didn't go away, months after, he wondered if he should turn himself in. 

Finally, he threw himself back into field work, bypassing his classroom all together. It was gritty and dangerous, but it was the only thing that kept his mind at bay.

Almost without Sam noticing, three months passed and he found himself called into Bobby’s office.

“Hey Sam,” Bobby greeted him from his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Is this about what I think it’s about?” Sam asked.

“If you think it’s about the son of a bitch carving up women in Las Vegas,” Bobby said. “You’d be right.”

Normally Sam didn’t follow the news, but this was impossible to avoid the coverage on this one. The media was hungry for blood and they’d found it in The Hand of God.

“How many has he killed?”

“Sixteen, at last count.” Bobby replied. “Possibly more.”

Sam leaned forward on his knees, the thing inside of him waking with a loud yawn. “When do I leave?”

~~~

It was barely morning when Sam landed at McCarran International Airport. He picked up his rental and drove straight to the latest crime scene, only stopping to pick up donuts for Donna, Jodi and Garth. Dean and Castiel were waiting for him, finishing up the interview with the officer who’d responded to the call.

“What have we got?”

Dean walked over, flipping over the pages of his memo book. “Two bodies, both women, around 45 years of age. According to the officer, both victims were prostitutes, working the same section of the Strip. Cause of death is the same on both, multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. Found with bible verses in their pockets.”

“Which ones now?” Sam asked, thumbing through his file to the place where the verses were written.

“Leviticus 19:29, and Proverbs 6:25-27.” Cas read off the strips of paper in evidence bags.

“Forensics find anything yet?” Sam didn’t even look up.

“Same weapon as with the others. Singled edged kitchen knife, but we’ll have to get confirmation from the coroner. We’ve ordered a tox screen. Some hairs, but nothing to compare it to,”

Sam sighed. This unsub was killing faster than the others he’d dealt with. His cooling off period between kills was getting shorter and shorter, and tonight he’d taken two in one night. That was the most worrying part.

The public was calling for answers and he didn’t have them. It wouldn’t be long until he was on the chopping block. It didn’t matter that he’d taken down the Devil, or captured both Bela and Benny; gratitude had a short life.

It was time to get to work.

He closed his eyes, trying to feel out the crime scene, trying to feel the killer, but nothing came to him, not even a twinge, only the laughter of his guest echoing in his mind. It was the first time his gift had ever deserted him, and it was jarring. Gone was the gentle chuckle, replaced by a harsh dark noise that set his teeth on edge

Had his transition from thinking like a killer to being a killer left him without the one advantage he had over the other killers?

He’d have to do this the old fashion way.

He started first with the bible verses, matching what was left in the victim’s pockets with the verses.

Leviticus 19:29 ended up being “Do not profane your daughter by making her a prostitute, lest the land fall into prostitution and the land become full of depravity” and Proverbs 6:25-27 was “Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes; for the price of a prostitute is only a loaf of bread, but a married woman hunts down a precious life. Can a man carry fire next to his chest and his clothes not be burned?”

Like all the others, they were verses about the perils of prostitution. It would seem their unsub had a vendetta against ladies of the night, just like his predecessor, Jack the Ripper and so many others.

But what had set him off? Prostitution was legal in Vegas. Did he have a personal vendetta or was it just a general dislike?

The sanctimonious nature of the crimes, paired with the stabbing, made him think it was a bit of both. There was anger there, but the verses spoke to a religious fervor. Their unsub had been so badly burned by one woman, he decided to take it out on other members of her profession, and used each kill as a vessel to spread his righteous fury.

The fact that he hadn’t been caught yet pointed to an organized mind, but it was too soon to tell if that was a product of a psychopath or just simply bad policing.

The simple fact was that no one cared when hookers went missing, which was why many serial killers hunted among them.

Sam stretched out in the uncomfortable chair in his hotel room. Gabriel would know where to go from here. He always knew how to get Sam out of a slump. He would know what the thing in his head was.

Sam missed him, more than he would ever admit. It didn’t matter that no one else knew what Gabriel was, but Sam felt guilty that his feelings for him hadn’t lessened in the time since Sam sent him away.

If anything, they’d gotten worse.

He found himself missing the mundane things about him the most, the way he fit perfectly against Sam, or the curls that formed at the base of his neck after he showered. He missed his laugh, and his stupid jokes, and the roll of his eyes when Sam said something equally corny.

He sighed. What Gabriel had done wasn’t even that bad in the grand scheme of things, Sam thought. He hadn’t killed Nobel prize winners or even contributing members of society. He killed scumbags, human refuse, the worst kind of people the world had to offer. Hasn’t everyone wanted to kill someone who’d done something awful? Gabriel had just taken it a step further, and as Sam had discovered with Lucifer Shurley, it wasn’t a hard step to make.

Would he kill the Hand of God if given the chance? That was a real question.

The man had murdered sixteen women in cold blood. He was a monster who killed because he liked doing it. 

Sam would do it in a heartbeat. 

Maybe he wasn't that much different than Gabriel.

With that thought in his mind, he looked down at his papers. Nothing would tell him anymore than they already had. He simply had to wait. 

Maybe he would get his chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	9. M&M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clues begin appearing from Gabriel about the Hand of God killer. He leaves Sam evidence and his trademark that lead him towards the killer.

They didn't have to wait long for another body, or another, or another. Three more call girls died, while the FBI spun their wheels. 

They sent up perimeters, and the Hand killed outside of them. They set traps, but he never fell for them. They had more cops in the streets than ever before, and not one of them ever laid eyes on him.

Sam couldn't step out of his hotel room without being hounded by the media, and if he never saw another tabloid with his face splashed across it, it would be too soon. 

He had even tried to resign, but Bobby had refused to accept it. The Bureau needed him now more than ever, the Section Chief had claimed, and he believed in him. Sam couldn't be expected to have a perfect batting average. No one did.

But Bobby’s pep talk didn't do him any good. Sam was still lost.

He tried every technique he’d learned at the Academy, things he hadn’t used since. They’d tried fingerprinting the bible verses, but they’d been handled so many times that anything they got was basically useless. He was nearing the end of his rope. The public wanted answers and he had nothing to tell them.

By the time the fourth body showed up, Sam was hopeless. Until he checked the victim’s pocket.

The latest victim, a thirty five year old woman named Amy Pond, had a verse in her left pocket, but her right pocket wasn’t empty, like the others.

There was a candy wrapper.

Sam couldn’t help but grinning. To anyone else, it would just seem like their vic kept random things in her pocket, but to him, he knew.

It was wrapped around a small religious flipbook, with the address of the evangelical churches on the back.

Gabriel was trying to help him.

Slipping the wrapper and tract into separate evidence bags, he waved them at Dean. “Look at this!” He hollered.

Dean walked over, and took the bag from him, squinting at the address on the back. “Hey, I know this place! Rev. Michael Matthew Milton,” Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“What? You haven’t seen the commercials? Or the billboards? Hell, or the freaking adverts on the diner placemats?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. He’d been in a kind of haze since they’d gotten here and anything that wasn't directly involved in solving their current case was beneath his notice. “You wanna go check it out?” Sam questioned. “Might be nothing, but we haven’t got a lot to go on.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll get Cas.”

~~~~

The church of Saint Michael the Redeemer was a little off the beaten path, set back among dingy video stores and knick-knack shops. Dean passed it twice before they finally found it, parking their rental right in front.

Even for the middle of a weekday, the church was deserted. There was no one inside, not a stray parishioner, not even a janitor.

Cas knocked loudly on the door once they were inside. “Hello?” His voice echoed in the high ceilinged room, bouncing off the plush trappings.

Sam was surprised by how nice the inside of the church was compared to the outside. The pews were polished mahogany, and a red rug ran down the center aisle. Everything was immaculate.

“Can I help you gentleman?”

A dapperly dressed man had limped out of the vestibule, holding a pew for support. He had a proud bearing, his back ramrod straight as he came towards them. He had dark brown hair, perfectly combed and a face that was more pretty than handsome. The thing that had taken up residence in the darkest corner of his brain bristled, and Sam swore he heard a laugh, but he shoved the thought away, causing the thing to retreat.

The Reverend offered Dean his hand and it was then when Sam saw his left eye. It was white and clouded over. He was blind in that eye.

“We’re with the FBI, sir,” Dean extended a hand to shake the man’s while Sam and Cas took out their badges. “We have a couple questions to ask the Reverend.”

The man smiled. “I’m Reverend Milton,” he replied. “Come, we can talk in my office.”

They followed him down a dark, narrow corridor and into a small cramped office. Reverend Milton moved to sit back behind his desk, his ancient looking computer taking up most of the space. Cas and Dean took the two dented folding chairs in front of him. Sam stood.

“What is this about, agents?”

Sam pulled the bagged tract out of his bag. “How many of these do you give out?” He handed it to Dean, who handed it over to the Reverend.

He held it close to his face, blocking it for a moment as he looked at it with his good eye. “The congregation gives out thousands of these a year,”

“Do you normally give them out to hookers?” Sam asked.

The Reverend blinked. “We give them to many...unfortunates. Why?”

“This was found in the pocket of a murder victim,” Sam replied. “A prostitute who was stabbed to death.”

He didn’t look surprised. “The killer that’s been all over the news.”

“Yes,” Sam responded. “Do you keep records of who is assigned to hand these out?”

‘Yes, Agents,” he nodded, shaking his mouse and bringing his computer to life. “I’m afraid my secretary is on vacation. I don’t really know how to work this thing,” he offered a smile, but something about it chilled Sam to his core. “I can have it for you, if you come back tomorrow. Our evening service starts at six.”

“That would be great,” Sam took the tract back. “We’ll be there.”

Sam hadn’t expected the church to be standing room only by the time they got there, not with how deserted it had been the day before. They had to park three blocks away.

They heard the sermon loud and clear from the street, and they slipped into the back just as the Reverend came out from behind his pulpit and launched into his tirade.

Sam never would have thought the mild-mannered man they’d met yesterday was capable of the vitriol that was spewing from his mouth.

He spoke of hellfire and damnation, or what befell God’s children when they stepped off the beaten path. He screamed of women who had fallen and tempted the righteous man from his given duty.

No wonder the Hand killed hookers, listening to sermons like this.

They waited until the last of the parishioners trickled out before they approached the Reverend. “That was some sermon, Reverend Milton,” Dean said.

“Thank you, Agents,” he gave them a respectful nod. “I have those records, if you’ll come back to my office.”

They followed him back to his cramped quarters, where he handed over a packet of papers with a smile. “Here you are. Please tell me if you need anything else.”

Dean took it from him and tucked it under his arm. “Thank you sir, we will see ourselves out.”

Dean and Cas walked out, leaving Sam and the Reverend. “Agent?”

“Yes, sir?” Sam responded.

“I do hope you find this… monster you’re hunting.”

There was something about his tone that made Sam cold on the inside. “We will, Reverend. Good night.”

Sam found he couldn’t get warm, even after he took a hot shower.

He fell asleep with the Reverend's words echoing in his head.

~~~

Cas, Dean and Sam spent the better part of the next week chasing down leads spawned from the list of volunteers the Reverend had given them.

They spoke to everyone who had handed out tracts in a four block radius, but no one remembered seeing anything suspicious. A couple of them recognized the victim in passing, but none of them gave her a tract, or saw her with anyone in the time they were there.

Cas checked alibis for the handful of men on their list, but they all had solid ones, with people who were willing to vouch for them, and no reason to suspect otherwise.

Sam was beginning to get frustrated again. They were back to square one. He was sure the church was connected in some way, but Gabriel’s clue was the only thing that had brought them there. Was he trying to sabotage their investigation?

Sam doubted he would risk everything just to fuck with them. Gabriel loved his practical jokes, but he loved his freedom more. Sam didn’t think he’d stick his neck out for anything other than the truth.

He settled into bed, his gun on the bedside table. He never went anywhere without it, not after the Devil. He’d never allow himself to be victimized like that again.

Normally it took him several hours to stop his brain from buzzing enough that he could fall asleep, but tonight he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His head barely hit the pillow before he was out cold.

_He knew he was being watched, could feel the eye on him as he crouched with his gun._

_“You gunna shoot me, Sammich?”_

_Gabriel was standing in front of him now, looking much as he had the last time Sam had seen him. He had his arms crossed lazily over his chest and he was grinning at him._

_“I missed you,” Sam said to him, putting his gun away._

_“Missed you too, kiddo,” Gabriel grinned, stepping forward until he was pressed comfortably against his side. “So now, what’s got you so worked up?”_

_“This killer… the Hand of God,” Sam replied. “I can’t find him. I-I lost my gift.’_

_“You didn’t lose it,” Gabriel responded, his head on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re one of us, Sammy. You don’t need it anymore, you’ve Become.”_

_“I couldn’t think like you,” Sam stammered back at his former lover. “You fooled me.”_

_“In your defense, I was trying very hard.” Gabriel answered. “You’ve never encountered something like me. You weren’t prepared.”_

_“I still love you,” Sam admitted. “Despite everything. I still-”_

_“I love you too,” Gabriel’s face softened. “You can do it. You can catch him. You’re staring it right in the face.”_

_Gabriel stood, backing away from Sam._

_“Don’t go,” Sam pleaded. “Please, I can’t do it alone.”_

_“Bye Sam,” Gabriel said, turning his back and walking back into the forest._

Sam woke up screaming his name, his phone buzzing loudly on the table.

They had another one.

They found the body in an abandoned alley right off the Strip. She was stiff and cold, in the first stages of rigor mortis, the blood that pooled around her looking black in the light of the early morning. 

Sam loomed over the body, trying to remember his dream, but the memory was slipping away like water through his cupped hands.

This victim was younger, younger than the rest. According to one of the other women who worked that block, her name was Abbadon. According to her mugshot, her name was Josie Sands. She’d been arrested once before for prostitution and underage drinking. She was 25 years old.

She’d been stabbed 12 times, hard, deliberate wounds, with bruising around the entry site. There was anger behind this attack, more so than the past murders. Something had happened.

‘Their visit to the church,’ Sam thought. They were on the right track, and the killer had panicked at the thought of them being too close. They rattled him and in Sam’s experience, rattled people made more mistakes.

He watched as Donna pulled something from the victim’s clenched hand. “What in the heck?”

Between her tweezers, there was a crumpled candy bar wrapper.

Sam couldn’t swallow. Another clue?

He took the bag after Donna wrapped it, bringing it up close to his face. Sticking out of it, were three brown hairs. The victim was a red-head.

He called Jodi over and waved the bag in her face. “We got hair.”

Jodi grinned at him. “Jackpot,” she snatched the bag out of his hand. “We can run it through the DNA database, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“It’s about time we did,” Sam nodded, leaving the package with her. “We deserve a win.”

He said a silent prayer of thanks to Gabriel. Hopefully it would be the evidence they needed to close this case. Sam was more exhausted than he had ever been, weary down to his very soul.

He longed for his own bed, and his kitchen and his dog, hell he even longed for his loud neighbors. He just wanted to be home.

He envied Gabriel’s freedom. He wasn’t on the Bureau's leash anymore. He could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and they couldn’t call him back at moment’s notice. There were no bodies waiting for him, no killers that he needed to catch.

But he’d come back to help Sam. Why?

He didn’t have to, and it wasn’t as if Sam had been kind to him in their last interaction. He threw him out, and ended their relationship without a second thought. He didn’t deserve whatever Gabriel was giving him.

He was a killer, he didn’t deserve anything anymore. But he had to catch the Hand.

There was no other choice, not for him. He would catch him or he would die trying.

Part of him hoped it was the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	10. After Dinner Mint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel leaves Sam the biggest present of all, but not without having some fun first.

Sam wasn’t surprised when the hair turned out to be nothing. They had nothing to compare it to, but it had still given him hope, hope that not all was lost. If Gabriel could find him, then so could he.

He was one of them after all.

Sam had to start thinking like a predator, to start stalking the killer, like the killer stalked his victims. He had to step into his shoes, take his steps, not just dog them. 

He spent more time at the church than at his hotel room, filling his house between church services , and then staking it out at night. He trailed members of the congregation that fit his profile, and knocked them off his list one by one.

But it was a large congregation, and one man could only do so much. Dean and Cas helped when they could, but Bobby had them running other leads most of the time. So Sam did it alone.

In that time, they found two more bodies, two more lives ended by a madman who thought he was doing God’s work, but there was no hint from Gabriel, and Sam kept working.

But he didn’t fall apart. Not like he’d done with the Devil. He watched, and waited for him to make a mistake. He would...eventually.

He found himself not caring how many more women were killed, and it didn’t shake him as much as it should have, as it would have before this all started. He just wanted to catch him. That was all that really mattered to him.

It came to a head when Dean, who normally had the observational skills of a teaspoon when it came to Sam, called him out.

They were sitting in Sam’s hotel room, leaving through the packets they’d collected this week on their list. There was still a lot to go, but it was better than sitting with their thumbs up their asses.

“Spill, dude,” Dean said, staring at him over the paper rim of his coffee cup.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam replied. “Just tired.”

Dean snorted. “It doesn’t look like “just tired” to me,” he responded. “You’ve been like this since the end of the Devil case, since Gabriel left.”  
Sam stiffened immediately. Did Dean know?

“He break your heart?”

Sam almost laughed. Leave it to Dean to jump to that conclusion. “He went off on a research trip. It wouldn’t have worked out,” Sam supplied. “But yeah, I miss him.” At least that part was honest.

“You’ll get back on the horse, buddy,” Dean got up from his chair and clapped Sam on the back. “How about we go to the bar Friday night. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, I always say!”

Sam rolled his eyes, and continued looking over his papers. “When we catch him, Dean,” he sighed. “Then I’ll worry about that.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean put in, getting his coat from the small closet. “I’m going out.”

Sam just watched him go and went back to his research. He planned his list for tomorrow, who he would follow and what he would do. He was finishing when there was a knock on the door.

He opened the door to find a delivery man, holding a white paper bag.

“I’ve got an order here for Sam Winchester.”

Sam looked over the young man. He didn’t seem to be dangerous, no concealed weapons. “I didn’t order anything,” he said, moving to close the door.

“It’s a present,” the young man explained. “From,” he looked down at the card, “Your Candy Man.”

Sam’s breath hitched. Gabriel had sent him something? He almost snatched the bag from the boy’s hand and retreated inside.

With shaking fingers, he untied the knot in the plastic and dug his hand into the bag. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sam drew a crumpled piece of paper from the bag.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

There in his hand, was a map. A hand-drawn map, in crayon, complete with hearts and smiley-faces and a big red X. Gabriel wanted him to follow this? It looked like a child’s pirate play map.

Sam held it up to the light, turned it side to side, trying to make heads or tails of it. He assumed the heart was supposed to be him, and the X of course, was where Gabriel’s next clue would be, but there were stops along the way, smaller purple X’s that Sam took as other clues.

Luckily, the map looked to be easily readable and it only took him two hours to figure out which map he had to lay it over to get to where he wanted to be. Sam took off almost at once, shoving his gun into the holster just in case.

He had no idea what Gabriel was leading him into.

He didn’t care.

~~~~

The first small X led him to a small poorly lit shopping center. Most of the stores were empty, with boarded up windows, and graffiti marring the exterior.

There was only one store that was still lit up, and Sam parked his SVU right in front of it. The windows of the shop were painted with faded cartoon characters, and balloons. Had he made a wrong turn somewhere?

He got out of the car, and headed for the front door. A bell chimed as he yanked it open, and surveyed the contents. It was a candy store.

There was a pimply young man behind the counter, and he looked up when Sam came in. They looked at each other for a moment, before the boy brought a package from under the counter. It was wrapped in white paper, with a large purple X.

“I think this is for you.”

Sam stopped. “Why would you think that?”

“The man who left this here said it would be picked up by a tall man with long hair,” the boy shrugged. “That’s you. He said not to open it yet.”

Sam crossed the cracked linoleum to take the package from him. There was no note, no other instructions, just the X, just like on the map. It had to be.

He tucked it under his arm and went out the way he came, the bell jingling behind him. Sam resisted the urge to shake the package, not wanting to break whatever was inside it. He put it carefully in the front seat, and stuck his key into the ignition. He slipped on his seatbelt and was off in search of his next X.

~~~

The second stop was more what he was expecting, an old abandoned building, with weeds growing thick and unfettered outside. Sam un-holstered his gun, and held it in front of him as he approached, his eyes darting. He didn’t hear anyone, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

He pushed through the loose board into the building, gun in front.

The warehouse was like many other abandoned buildings he’d been in, strewn with garbage and smelling like rotting food and urine. Sam walked carefully towards the wall and flicked on the light switch.

The one working light was dim, and barely lit the corner in which it hung. But there, under the light, was undoubtedly what he’d been sent here to find.

He really was going to kill Gabriel when he found him.

Under the light was a stack of decrepit wooden pallets, piled haphazardly to form a table, and on the table was a splintery wooden cross. The part that had Sam shaking his head was the large purple balloon that was tied to it. As if Gabriel could have made it any more obvious.

Taking gloves from his pack, he gingerly picked up the cross, snipping off the balloon string and avoiding the pointy end as he put it in a paper bag. If it was evidence, he wanted to preserve whatever integrity it had, even after sitting in a dingy warehouse.

Sam did a sweep of the rest of the warehouse with his flashlight, making sure Gabriel hadn’t left anything else for him. It would be just like him to make Sam dig through the mire to find what he’s looking for, but there’s nothing else that stuck out for him.

Feeling as if he desperately needed a shower, Sam crawled out of the same opening he’d come in through and headed towards his car, cross tucked under his arm.

It was time for the main event.

~~~

Gabriel’s map took him out into the desert, past where the lights of the Strip lit up the surrounding area. He drove for at least forty-five minutes without seeing a car.

He made one wrong turn and had to turn around twice before he was sure he was on the right road. Eventually it turned to dirt and Sam bumped over the road, growing more and more anxious with each passing minute. What was Gabriel leading him to? Would it lead him to the killer, or just be another small clue?

The final turn was marked, of course, with a big red balloon, tied to a large cactus. Sam was too wound up to give it more than a passing glance.

His heart was in his throat as he jostled down the street and into some brush cover. There was a cabin, and another car. That only meant one thing. Gabriel was here.

Clues aside, Sam had had no communication with Gabriel since the night he killed the Devil, and the thought of him being this close had Sam feeling lightheaded. Truth be told, he didn’t trust himself with Gabriel. He wasn’t sure whether he would kiss him…or kill him.

His brain was buzzing as he stepped out of the car, feeling like his head was full of bees. He retrieved the packages from the passenger side, and tucked them under his arm, not willing to leave them unguarded in his car. They were the only clues he had, and he wasn’t taking chances.

He didn’t trust Gabriel either.

With his gun in the holster and an extra magazine in his pocket, he crept toward the cabin. Through the lit window, he watched as Gabriel paced, back and forth, chewing on his thumbnail. He really hadn’t expected him to be there.

Gabriel looked more drawn than the last time Sam had seen him, large dark bags under his eyes. His golden hair was longer and drawn back into a ponytail, curling at the nape of his neck. He’d let his beard grow in and even from here, Sam could see it was the same color as his hair.

Sam debated turning back, but Gabriel had already seen him and moved out of sight for a moment as he threw open the door.

“Hey there, Sammy,” he grinned. “I knew you’d figure it out. Come on in!”

Sam followed Gabriel back into the cabin, ready to strike if he needed to. But there were no weapons to be seen as he walked in, not even a butter knife or a dirty spoon. The inside was positively cozy, with a brick fireplace and a woven rag rug on the floor. The furniture was worn but comfortable looking, and the art on the walls spoke of somewhere one could go to relax. Despite the circumstances, Sam liked it. 

Gabriel turned to face him, the smile Sam loved graced his features. “ So did you like my map?”

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The crayon was a nice touch.”

Gabriel snorted. “Why not have a little fun? You’re too uptight.”

Sam wanted to make a snappy retort, wanted to deny it, but he found himself unable to hide the grin on his face. It was almost like old times, back before he found out the man he loved killed people for sport. He could close his eyes, and pretend everything hadn’t gone to shit, pretend that they were in their kitchen, playfully bickering as they made dinner. “Well, I just got out of a pretty intense relationship. I’ve been pretty down.”

The other man perked up. “Yeah?” he leaned in closer. “What is the lucky mystery man like?”

“He’s short,” Gabriel stuck out his tongue and Sam ignored him. “And gorgeous, and loves surprises and pranks.”  
“Sounds like a real catch,” Gabriel noted. “And speaking of surprises, I have one for you in the living room. Wanna see?”

“You know how much I love surprises.”

Gabriel tossed him a smile over his shoulder, as he walked into the next room. “Then you’re gunna love this.”

There was a large lumpy object, covered in a flannel sheet, and it took Sam a minute to realize something was alive under it. With a flourish, Gabriel whipped it off and revealed Reverend Michael Milton, looking as if he’d been introduced to a baseball bat.

His face was covered in blood, his own by the looks of it and he had the beginnings of a spectacular black eye blooming across his cheek. He was tied to a wooden chair, his mouth secured with a piece of duct tape.

“Sammy,” Gabriel indicated the Reverend. “May I introduce the Hand of God?”

Sam stared hard at him for a moment, not fully comprehending why Michael Milton was trussed up like a Christmas goose in front of him. “You sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” he nodded, circling closer to the bound man. “ After all, I saw him do it.”

“You saw him kill someone?”

“I saw him kill one of girls before you arrived,” Gabriel explained. “Spouting all sorts of religious nonsense, stabbed her in the stomach, and slipped something into her pocket. Not gunna get any more sure than that, kiddo.”

“Before we arrived?” Sam asked. “How?”

“You’re not the only one with contacts, Sammy,” Gabriel replied.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “A serial killer network?”

“Not exactly,” Gabriel responded. “But I have my people. It’s really not important. Did you bring what I asked for?”

Sam took the evidence bag and the package out from under his arm and handed them over. Gabriel began to tear into it, leaving the wrapping on the floor. “Want some?”

Sam peered into the box. “You made me stop for candy!?”

“Even monsters get hungry, Sam-a-lam,” Gabriel retorted, his mouth full of chocolate truffles.

“Let me guess,” Sam replied petulantly. “The cross is some sort of decoration for your new place? Some sort of festive table trimming?”

Gabriel wrinkled his nose, laughing as he leaned in to kiss Sam on the cheek. The Reverend struggled in his bonds, eyes bulging “Oh, Sambo, you’re so cute. I’m going to kill him with it.”

Gabriel didn’t offer any apologies, and Sam was treated to an unadulterated glimpse of the monster behind his whiskey-brown eyes. He could almost hear it’s laughter penetrating his head. The worst part was that the thing inside him stirred, the thing that had been kindled to life the moment he killed Lucifer Shurley. It’s laughing and carrying on drowned out any doubts Sam had and he stepped back.

“Does he admit it?” Sam asked instead.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Gabriel challenged, ripping the tape from the Reverend's mouth.

“Sodomite!” The Reverend screeched. “Sinner. Abomination. You will be punished!” he screamed, struggling against his bonds again. “I am doing God’s work, purging this sinful land of the whores.”

“Vegas is full of sinners,” Sam retorted. “Gamblers, heathens, adulterers, why just the whores?”

“Their sins condemn us all,” Michael fixed his bad eye on Sam. “Her sins condemned me.”

“Who?”

“The accursed woman who gave me life. She caused my deformity with her whoring and lascivious ways,” Michael snarled back. “But God makes the lame walk and the blind see. All is possible with Him. I will rid the world of the women like her and He will reward me for my service.”

A shiver went up Sam’s spine. Of all the monsters he’d met, the religious were the ones who scared him the most. Not the ones who were merely pretending in order to fool the legal system, but the ones that really and truly believed it. Juries ate it up. Sam could see it already, a lighter sentence, possibly parole.

Could he live with that, knowing this monster could get out again, when he could end it here, now?

The quick jump should have alarmed him, it would have in the past, but it didn’t now. All Sam felt was the laughter of the monster inside him and an all-consuming peace. Gabriel was here, with him. He would explain it all… after.

“Give me the cross.”

Gabriel regarded him carefully, reluctantly handing over the cross. “Are you sure? There’s no going back after this, Sam,” he warned. “You can walk away.”

“You brought me here for a reason, Gabriel,” Sam said, turning the cross over in his hands. This was it.

“I wanted to see you,” Gabriel insisted. “I’m selfish, Sammy. That’s all. I’m a monster. You don’t have to be one too.”

“I think I always was.” He took a step closer to Michael.

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, swaying on the balls of his feet. He reached, his hand outstretched. “Give it back. This isn’t you.”

“Don’t you get it?” Sam let out a scoffing laugh, holding the cross out of the shorter man’s reach. “This is me. This is what I am. I’m done pretending to be something I’m not, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pulled back, and threw his hands up. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kiddo. Have at it.”

Sam turned back towards Michael, staring him dead in the eyes as he advanced on him. Michael let out another string of slurs and Sam silenced him in one blow, stabbing the cross fluidly into his throat.

A warm gush of blood burst over his hands, bubbling up from the wound as Michael tried to breathe. Sam forced it down deeper, until the cross’s arms got stuck on his collar bone. He held the cross steady, the tremors of his struggling body shaking Sam to his very core.

This, this felt good. It was better than sex, more intense than anything he’d ever known, and he liked it.

He regarded the dying man for a moment, allowing his darker self to surface and enjoy as he took his last labored breaths. Michael died with his eyes towards Heaven, and Sam felt like the Satan descending, destined for hell, but enjoying the fall.

He turned towards Gabriel with Michael's blood still warm on his hands, cupping his cheek against his sticky palm. He bent and kissed him hard, a mess of tongues and lips and teeth. There was nothing tender about it, only want and a fierce possessiveness that had the creature in his brain purring with satisfaction.

“You’re mine,” he growled, nipping at Gabriel’s lips none too lightly. “And I’m yours.”

Gabriel didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away, and Sam saw for the first time, the full extent of the thing Gabriel carried behind his eyes, and he wasn’t scared, not anymore.

Sam held his blood stained hand out to him. Gabriel readily took it and together they walked out, leaving destruction in their wake. It felt like coming home. 

Home.

He was finally home.

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Siralop/media/bb%203.jpg.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean receives an unexpected visitor

Dean Winchester slept on his table, his head pillowed on his arms. Between the latest thing that went bump in the night and Sam going missing, he hadn’t had much in the way of sleep.

He refused to entertain any other scenario, refused to accept that, like Bobby and Cas had suggested, he just ran away, that he’d needed a break.

They didn’t know Sam the way he did. He would never just drop off the face of the earth without a good reason. There had to be a reason.

Dean was roused by the doorknob of his room jiggling. Out of force of habit, he reached for his gun, staring at the door.

“Hey Dean.”

Sam pushed the door open, looking healthier and happier than Dean had seen since Jess died. He didn’t look like a man who’d been kidnapped against his will.

“Sam, what the fuck?” Dean stood up too quickly and knocked some of his papers to the ground. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been … around.”

“Around?!” Dean found himself shouting, the shock of seeing Sam swallowed by anger. “You don’t disappear for six months without a phone call, and say you’re around?!”

“Dean, I’m sorry-” Sam tried, but Dean was having none of it.

“No,” he spat. “You don’t get to say sorry. If you were sorry, you would have come back sooner, or at least called. Jesus, Sam, I thought you were dead!”

“Dean-” 

“And now you just waltz in like you went to the store for milk!” he shouted. “Why come back now?” 

“To tell you to stop looking for me,” Sam sighed. “I know you've been tracking my bank account and my phone.”

“Why?” Dean asked. This didn't make sense. Sam seemed...different, more confident and less afraid of his own shadow.

“It's better if you don't know,” Sam responded.

“Are you in some sort of trouble or something, Sammy?” Dean questioned.

“Or something,” Sam grinned at him and Dean did not like it. There was something sinister about that sort of smile, too many teeth, like a hungry shark. “I’m happy, De. I’m better than happy. Let me go.”

“I can’t-”

“You can,” Sam insisted. “You fit in here. You’re still in love with the Bureau. All I ever wanted was to belong somewhere, and I found it.”

Dean was quiet for a minute, thinking over what Sam had said. Ever since he was small, all Sam wanted was to find somewhere he felt normal. He’d even asked Santa one year for a friend just like him. What kind of brother would he be if he denied Sam this now?

“Will you at least call?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Sam responded hesitantly. “But I’ll try.”

“Is there anything I can say to make you stay?” Dean said. He might as well take a chance.

“No,” Sam responded, crossing the room to embrace him. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Take care of yourself, bitch,”

Sam just smiled at him, pounding him on the back. “You too, jerk.”

He didn’t say another word, just smiled and slipped back out the door. Dean wanted to punch something hard, as soon as Sam left. He thought about going after him, chasing him down to get a better explanation, but he just sat back down at his table.

He’d come back. Sam always came back.

He thumbed through his papers and started where he’d left off when he fell asleep. Even though the Candy Man had fallen dormant, Dean suspected he was either dead or locked up, it hadn’t taken long for a copy-cat to fill his place.

Well copycats if Bobby’s theory was to be believed. Two murderers, working in concert and punishing the wicked. The newspapers called them heroes, purging the monsters from the streets, but it was the tabloid’s name for them that stuck: The Karma Killers.

Dean shook his head at the name, and got back to the business of catching the monsters under the bed, sweetly oblivious to the fact that his brother was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta and best friend Toastiel!
> 
> Art for this fic was done by the amazing TheMidnightParade! You can find her http://themidnightparade.deviantart.com/


End file.
